


The Ascent

by hlmedinfl



Category: Makai Ouji: Devils and Realist
Genre: Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 15:29:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 21
Words: 84,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2737781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hlmedinfl/pseuds/hlmedinfl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When William suddenly disappears from Stratford, Dantalion and Sitri do everything they can to find him, including threatening a certain angel with falling. But, as they begin to get to the bottom of his disappearance, a deeper and more complex plot emerges: one that they will have to prevent, even at the cost of their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Part One)

Winter is a dangerous season for demons; when humans gather around fires and share stories and cheer and warmth, there's no ill will to be found. Their powers weaken, it becomes a chore to perform even the simplest of transportation spells.

But winter is also a very dangerous season for a student like William Twining, especially if such student has a cold.

William sneezed, the force of the expulsion making his eyes squeeze tight and his body shudder for a moment. It was quite a sneeze, enough to silence his whole Latin class and bring the teacher's lecture to a grinding halt.

"God bless you," someone said from behind him and he grinned at the irony. It wasn't so much that everyone knew he was a staunch realist and man of science (although he wasn't so uncouth to voice this out loud to someone who meant it as a thoughtful sentiment); it was just that the person who sat behind him was Dantalion Huber, AKA Eminent Duke Dantalion, commander of 36 armies in Hell. A demon said God bless you to him.

Which he didn’t mind exactly. He'd sprinted past the stage of fervently denying the demon’s existence. Okay, so it was a little more of a trip than a sprint, but somehow William managed to turn that stubborn head of his around and actually, kind-of, sort-of, accept Dantalion for what he was.

A muscle-headed trouble maker.

The professor coughed to call attention back to the front of the room, and the lecture resumed, as tasteless and bland as the food served in the dining hall. William tried to focus on the instructor’s words, but his motivation was steadily losing steam. It wasn’t just because he’d studied all the material covered the night before. It wasn’t only because he felt another sneeze coming. It was because sitting in front of Dantalion made him feel uneasy in the way that makes one hesitate with every movement, that makes one position their shoulders so that they seem a bit more tense than usual, that makes one show a bit more of their neck than what is easily advised. Because the way he wanted Dantalion to see him today was different than it had been yesterday, and he couldn’t quite account for that change.

After studying endless lines of Latin the night before, he decided on something. Studying was not the way he wanted to spend the rest of his life. He wanted excitement in his life, if only a little to keep him satisfied. He longed for exploration and discovery. He longed for the wind in his hair and the sound of great, beating wings. He longed for fire.

Another sneeze broke into the lecture on phonetics.

“Do control yourself, Twining,” the professor chastised, but it was an empty and harmless rebuke. And William knew it. He knew it because he knew the professor knew that William Twining was beyond Latin phonetics. That Latin class was painfully boring for students, but horrendously boring for a gifted student like William Twining. In his thirty year career as an educator he’d only encountered one other student who was so apt and adroit.

Yet, the dry lecture continued on, stretching as far out as a gray desert stretches to a gray sea.

* * *

As if by some shred of mercy, classes ended before William felt the need to sneeze again. In the Headmaster's dorm lounge, he gave another great sneeze. This time, no one paid much attention and he was more thankful for that than the handkerchief that was eventually handed to him by Sean. 

"T-thanks," he said, sinking back into the cushions.  

Once again, the underclassman had provided the utmost decadent selection of delectable sweets. The pastries were arranged lovingly on the china. Glazed fruits and nuts filled glazed bowls. And the earl grey steamed elegantly for such a dark day.

“So just what is it that your family does?” William asked nonchalantly. The Chantilly cake was heavenly today, light and fluffy, the cream smooth and rich. His lips pursed, a bit of jealousy curdling the taste in his mouth. He doubted even Kevin could master such a recipe.

“Oh me?” Sean looked at him, the same bright and exuberant expression as always. “Well, it’s my grandfather who’s in charge. He manages all the assets on our estate.” He beamed, playing absent-mindedly with his earlobe.

William’s eyes narrowed. So it was old money, eh?

“Your grandfather? He must be quite healthy if he can do that. Not even my uncle could manage my assets with any success.” He swallowed the piece of cake rather uncomfortably. “Sorry, you didn’t need to hear that.”

“Not at all,” Sean smiled, his eyes closing as his cheeks puffed up. “Actually, my grandfather should really retire from it soon. He’s been at it for a very long time and working all day and night isn’t very good for his health.” He took a sip of tea and William wondered if he was just imagining things, or had Sean's eyes narrowed to a suspicious degree? “I’ve been thinking of ways to convince him to rest.”

“I see.” Without warning, William suddenly dropped a pice of cake. He felt another sneeze coming on.

“A-are you alright?” Sean gasped.

He sneezed. Once. Twice. Thrice. And then fumbled for the handkerchief.

“I’m fine. Just getting over a cold. Hopefully,” he sniffed.

“Colds seem like awful things,” came a cool and airy voice from Sean’s direction. William’s head shot up.

“When did you get here?” He gaped. Sitri had seemingly materialized, taking his customary seat beside Sean, his fan club looking on with a rippling envy.

“Just now.”

“You’ve never had a cold?” Sean looked at him in disbelief.

“Of course not. I’m quite healthy.”

“That’s hard to believe, given all the sweets you eat,” William added sardonically, the sniffling cutting the severity of it.

Sitri continued on the cake, as if he hadn’t heard the comment.

“Aah, this is nice,” Sean brought his tea cup to his lips again, perhaps to soften the mood. “It’s been a while since I’ve experienced a winter this far south.”

“I can assure you,” William said, his voice still flat, “it won’t be any warmer.”

Now that he mentioned it, the room was quite warm for a winter’s day. That might have been expected, as snow and the temperature had yet to truly descend. However, William couldn’t shake the feeling that it was the demons’ influence that kept the place so warm. Once he was out of their vicinity, he was sure he’d be cold again.

“Will you be going home for the holidays, Master?” Sean piped up, breaking William from his thoughts.

“Not likely,” William shook his head. “Kevin, uh, Reverend Cecil has to stay here and he’s my house steward. So there’s really no reason to return home if no one’s there.”

Sean nodded and then turned to Sitri. “How about you, Cartwright?”

“If Dantalion is staying, then I’m staying.”

“Huber? But why him?” The underclassman’s eyes grew wide.

“It’s a long story,” Sitri said, munching on a macaron.

Sean looked down. “I see… I hope you don’t have a thing for Huber.”

“What? Me and Dantalion! Don’t insult me!” Sitri looked as he was ready to attack Sean, but the other only smiled.

“Just kidding. I know the both of you are practically at each other’s throats half the time.” He set his tea cup down on the saucer with a light clink. “But hearing you say that is sort of a relief in a way.” Sean sunk back into the couch, letting out a graceful sigh.

“Is it?” Sitri still seemed suspicious.

Sean nodded. “I wanted to make sure at least some of my friends would be around for winter break.”

“Sean, are you staying too?”

The underclassman looked up with eyes that seemed almost too perspicacious for one his age. “I want to. It all depends on grandpa…”

From there, the conversation drifted to literature and sweet wines, Sitri and Sean critiquing each other's tastes with an odd air of authority and pleasantness. William found it terribly mundane, and before long he wandered off, mingling with the other students in the common room. But even those conversations were trivial, and worse yet, superficial. Resigning himself to an afternoon of studying, he climbed the staircase and headed for his room.

Which was where he found Dantalion. 

“Was there something you wanted?” He asked crossly. Of course, he knew what Dantalion really wanted, but he thought he’d at least give the other the chance to speak for himself.

“Could we talk inside?” Dantalion seemed serious, his eyes glowing like dark embers. 

“Very well,” William opened the door. He half-expected the room to be freezing when he entered, but as he crossed into it, he found it a bit stifling. Perhaps Dantalion’s warmth seemed to radiate throughout it. At least demonic powers could be practical sometimes, he realized.

“So what is it?”

Dantalion closed the door behind him with a soft click and sat on the chair, resting his ankle on his knee and swinging his arm over it. It was such a fluid motion that William could hardly think that it was imitable for many of the boys at the school, least of all himself. Dantalion had mastered physical movements to the point of sophistication and William felt lethargic by comparison.

“William,” Dantalion began. “I need you to be careful right now.” He leaned in, eyes boring into him.

“Aren’t I always careful?” William shrugged off his coat and hung in on the coat rack. The room only seemed to grow warmer despite the first drops of rain outside.

“This time of year, our powers are very weak.” Dantalion explained, handling a small fire ball in his open palm. It glowed brilliantly. Dangerously. William felt he might be mesmerized by it if he wasn’t careful. “Believe it or not, this is what my power’s been reduced to unless I concentrate my efforts.”

William scowled. “Good. I won’t have to worry about you burning down the Headmaster’s dorm.” He flopped on the bed, kicking off his shoes as his legs hung over the side. The rain was falling harder now.

“I’m serious, William.” Dantalion raised himself from the chair and strode over to his bedside. “Our powers are temporarily weakened right now and that makes you an easy target for Heaven.”

William turned his head. He wanted to study, but the heat in the room drowned his head in dizzyness. Any more and he’d fall asleep.

“So that Michael guy might come again? Isn’t he weak, or something?” He vaguely remembered the angel. It seemed like so long ago that he’d been convicted of cheating, so long ago since he’d seen that chessboard floor.

“Heaven might be tired of waiting, especially now that Uriel has basically chosen to side with you.”

Even Kevin, who finally revealed the truth, seemed far away. William felt very sleepy. Was it Dantalion’s fault? Of course! Everything was Dantalion’s fault.

“I’m not saying it’ll be Michael who comes, but there are plenty of other angels in Heaven capable of coming after you. Perhaps even more capable than Michael.”

“So there are factions in Heaven as well?”

Dantalion’s face twisted in consternation. “You could say that, though I’m no expert.”

“I get it, I get it.” William held a hand over his head. It burned.

“So what I’m saying is,” Dantalion leaned in closer, until he was very near his face, “just be careful, okay, William?”

William stared up at the demon. Now that he thought about it, Dantalion’s frowns were rather nice, especially when complimented by the slicked-down hair of his human form. His eyelashes were also surprisingly long, now that William really had a chance to look. Elegantly and sophisticatedly long. Did it make him a bad person because he longed to see Dantalion frown like that? For the furrow of his eyebrows to reflect the uncertainty in his soul?

“Like I said before." His voice felt more breathless than expected. "When have I not been careful?” He felt his head roll back, his eyes heavy with weariness. 

“Hey? Are you okay?”

William tried to right himself on the bed, but his body felt ungainly and sloppy, like he was a child who’d just spun around until the world warped into a polychromatic mess. The room swerved.

“Here, let me help you.” Dantalion’s firm hands were around his waist before his sluggish body could react. In another second, he was completely on the bed. Before he knew it, he was under two sets of sheets and a very thick comforter. He felt Dantalion’s palm on his forehead.

“It’s hot…” he complained.

Dantalion nodded and undid the top buttons of his shirt.

“Hey… what are you doing…?” He mumbled, irate, but was too weak to yell.

“You’ll have to bear with it for now,” Dantalion said, “you’ve got a fever, William.”

Dantalion’s fingers left his shirt and it was then that William realized that his chest was slick with sweat.

“I’ll get you some water. Just try to rest for the moment, alright?”

He heard the door click and closed his eyes. This fever came on fast. So it really was warm. _He_ was warm. Perhaps Dantalion and Sitri’s powers could only make things so comfortable. But still, something else was bothering him. Something that he couldn't articulate out loud. 

“You idiot…” he mumbled, though the person meant to hear it wasn't there anymore.

He looked up the ceiling. It seemed to be spinning. In a way, he was thankful for his cold. He hadn't had a quiet moment in a long, long while. He hadn't had the chance to ponder the deeper questions. For some reason, all he could think of was Dantalion's earlier comment. _God bless you_. It wasn't the most bizarre of social customs, but he'd always shrugged it off as a pleasantry. Yet, coming from a demon's mouth, it took on new and complex meanings. Had Dantalion said that just to be polite, or was there something deeper at work that not even the aforementioned demon was aware of?

So much of his reality was challenged since those demons arrived. They'd forced William to break down his internal mechanisms, the pillars that shaped his narrow world and way of thinking. Yet, in the rubble of all that, a new world was forming. A world strange and terrifying and exciting and warm. Was this what it meant to grow up? To become an adult? He believed it was. Just as he believed in magic and demons and heaven and hell. 

He rolled over, the warmth of his bed inviting him into its warm recesses. 

Really, at this point, what was stopping him from believing in God too?

* * *

“And I can’t recommend this marzipan enough! It’s soooo good!” Sean was especially animated today, Sitri noticed. It was as if he were trying to desperately to hide his excitement about something, and failing at it terribly.

Still, it was as Sean said: the marzipan was sweet with just the right hint of nuttiness.

“Wouldn’t it taste divine in calisson?” The boy mused, cupping his hands on his cheeks, gazing out the window, to the dead, grayish winter rain that lashed without restraint.

“Perhaps,” Sitri judged. “Although the flavor is too subtle and might be better suited for panforte.”

“You’re right.” Sean agreed after he took another bite. “I never thought of that! Your tastebuds really are amazing.”

“Not really…” He was used to humans fawning over him, but his tastebuds… what a bizarre thing to be complimented on! No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t figure the underclassman out. Those other humans were a simple bunch, a favor for a handshake, a minute of his attention in exchange for an essay, but Sean seemed to expect nothing of their time spent together.  Or perhaps the thing Sean wanted needed time to build up to. That was the thing Sitri, at the back of his mind, worried the most about.

“Ah, but the weather really is unpleasant today. I’m not looking forward to walking to the underclassmen’s dorms,” Sean said, snapping Sitri out of his thoughts. “But I have to be off.” He rose reluctantly.

“You’re leaving? Already?”

Sean gave no reply. Instead, he took Sitri’s hand in his, leant down, and kissed it.

“Well then,” he titled his head, raising both their hands up. And then, with a motion that was too graceful for one so young, he returned his hand, unclasped it, and turned on his heel. No words escaped Sitri’s lips then, only the fleeting feeling of disbelief.

Even when his fan club came and wiped the offending mark from his hand, he could still feel the warmth of the boy’s lips.

* * *

Outside, Metatron licked his lips. Had Eve tasted this? The sweetness of lust, the tingle of desire and its sweet perfume. Gloating in the garden, Hell brimming on her lips.

He stopped himself. Perhaps he was getting too carried away. It was not time yet to dwell on tiny victories. The larger picture was still in his head, swirling around, bellowing with steam. He breathed in the chilly air. He hadn’t lied, it was the first winter he’d be spending in the human world in such a long while.

If one examined Sean Christian closely, one would have discovered that the rain did not hit him. It was as if the young student was protected by a barrier. 

He crossed over to the church. The door creaked open with a shuddering moan. The windows could not illuminate the interior of the usually bright chapel and so a few candles burned at the far end. In the middle of this light knelt the priest, offering a prayer.

“Who were you praying to?” he asked, the innocent tone of his human form lilting in the church’s gloom.

The priest responded with not quite an answer, not quite a glare, but enough to make Metatron all the more curious.

“I’m just saying, I’m sure you could talk to them instead of just praying. Unless it was God, of course.”

“Don’t think I haven’t been watching you,” he said, not quite as cordially as Metatron wished. “Just what are you planning to do with the young master? And Sitri, too?”

“You don’t need to worry about William. He’s perfectly fine. And since when have you cared about demons?”

“I could say the same for you.”

Metatron grinned. Uriel was cold today, and like the weather, only growing more vicious.

“It’s unfortunate we can’t get along, Uriel. It’s lonely pretending to be a human all the time. You must know the feeling.” He came up to him, his mouth obscured by shadows. “You must know how lonely it is having no one to talk to.”

Uriel’s expression softened slightly. He still seemed annoyed, but there was a hint of recognition in his eyes. “I was never lonely in the human world,” he said softly. “I always had the young master to talk to.”

Metatron’s shadow of a smile faltered slightly. “I’m jealous, Uriel. You’ve found a home in this world already.” Something tugged at the back of Metatron’s mind. Wasn’t this world _his_ home? It had been once. But everyone he had known, all the places he had lived, everything from that distant, fragile past was gone now. The distant howl of wind moving across a cloudless sky.

He shook himself out of the reverie; there was no use in getting melancholic over things long in the past. He stepped back and plastered on his smile once again. “It’s been fun, Uriel, but I don’t think I’ll be here much longer. It’s about time I’ve started, isn’t it?”

Uriel’s eyes narrowed. “What do you have planned?”

“I can't tell you right now,” he scratched below the ear. “But I have a question for you.”

“What is it?”

“If you had the choice, would you stay with William or go back to Heaven?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Metatron turned on his heel. “Ah, that’s all I really wanted to hear. I guess now I have something in mind, but I really can’t tell you what it is. Not even I’m sure how it’ll turn out.” He marched triumphantly down the aisle. “Only, I hope we’ll be friends when this is all over.” Without waiting for a response, he flung opened the doors and flew out into the icy rain. The droplets never seemed to touch him.


	2. Chapter 2

William woke three times that night.

The first time, he tried to remember why he was sprawled across his bed instead of studying for an exam, but the answer was muffled somewhere underneath his pillow. The whole world felt like soft down, warm feathers wrapping around and consuming him. It wasn't an entirely unpleasant feeling. He nestled in closer, under the covers, his body cold and hot at the same time.

"What did you do to him, you good for nothing Nephilim?"

"You think _I_ did this? You don't know anything about humans, do _you_?"

"At least I fit in much better than _you_ do. No human has enough energy to be on all the school's sport's teams at once. And I doubt most demons would either, you freak!"

"You're calling me a freak? I have news for you. Do you know what a diet comprising of only sugar does to the human body? Well, do you?"

"Umm… guys…"

"At least I have enough sense to not brag about being the next king of Hell in front of the humans."

"When have I ever done that? Granted, maybe my sports teams do know a little bit too much about me than they should, but only because I forgot to bring a towel that one day—"

"Guys? Um…"

"Ugh! Disgusting. But that's to be expected from one so crass…"

"Hey. Um…"

"Like doling out favors to humans isn't the lowest of the low."

"You'd be lucky if you had even twice my popularity."

"Could I just…?"

"And another thing! You're always going on and on about how you're going to become substitute king but everyone knows how terrible you'd be!"

"I'm the perfect choice! You know nothing about politics! Just last week you skipped out on a very important-"

"SHUT UP!"

Both demons jumped and turned just as William was overcome with a feeling of lightheadedness.

"William are you okay?" They rushed toward the bed as William fell into his pillows again, their anguished faces annoying him for a reason he could not quite comprehend.

"Fine, fine, just quiet down. Why are you here anyway?"

"I told you I was coming back, William," Dantalion proclaimed at a volume that made him wince. 

"And I heard you were sick and it's my duty to check on you," Sitri popped up on the other side of the bed.

"Since when is it _your_ duty?" Dantalion leered across the bed. 

"When it became obvious that you couldn't care for him properly."

"I care for him just fine."

"He wouldn't be in this condition if you cared for him properly!"

"I get it, now go away." William coughed. His throat felt dry and raspy, but it was the least of his worries at the moment. "I hope I'm not like this for the end of term exams."

At this, the demons' eyes gleamed, and William immediately regretted everything he had ever said since the beginning of sentience.

"Lemme help you with that!" They shouted in unison. William had to admit, each gave adequate reasons why he would be the best facilitator for the job, but he could barely manage to keep up with their arguments as another headache roiled through his brain.

"DIDN'T YOU HEAR ME!? BOTH OF YOU GET OUT!" That was enough to quiet them down. They retreated to the far side of the room like wild animals cornered by an ardent huntsman. William sighed, the rush of blood to his head squeezed him with dizziness. He sunk back down into his pillows and closed his eyes.

"Just call on me if you need anything. You have my seal," he heard Dantalion say.

The door shut with a slam that would annoy any headache addled brain, and the bickering continued down the hall. William waited until their voices faded off into oblivion until rolling over on his pillow. Perfect, unblemished silence. Even with his head aching, he could still appreciate the comfort of a warm bed.

* * *

The second time he woke, William heard light footsteps in his room. Without opening his eyes, he tossed his head on the pillow to show that he wasn't quite in the mood for yelling at anyone anymore. Maybe, if those demons had an ounce of sincerity somewhere inside them, they'd leave him alone. But, as he waited for the imminent round of insults, he heard a soft clicking noise. Something warm was gently placed over his head.

William tried to pry his eyes open, but he heard a _shh_ , followed by a soft voice.

"No, no, go back to sleep, young master," the soft voice said. The person whom that voice belonged to was merely a blur, but William trusted it without hesitation. He squeezed his eyes shut and slept in the warmth of complete and utter blankness.

* * *

The third time William woke he was all alone, or so he thought. He shot up from the bed, as if he were in the midst of some frightening dream, and, as his eyes adjusted to reality, his skin pricked. It was a subtle feeling at first, complicated by his racing heart and burdened breathing, but, as he cemented himself in the here and now, a feeling crept along his skin and into the back of his head: someone was watching him.

His head swung back and forth, scanning the room for any hint of movement. Besides the feeling, nothing seemed out of place. It was at that moment that he realized his fever had broken. He was no longer uncomfortably hot, and besides the vertigo from breaching through sleep, the dizziness was gone as well. Yet, he would have much preferred the heat and the dizziness than the feeling it was replaced with. His shrewd eyes scanned the room once again, and once again nothing stood out to him.

William held his face in his hands. Nothing like a fit of paranoia in the middle of the night. But as irrational as his thoughts were, his nerves still tensed up at even the slightest creak or groan.

Shrugging off the restlessness, he removed his blankets and walked towards the window. A strange sort of magnetism was pulling him toward it and the moon's cold light. No wonder it'd been so quiet, William realized. The rain had given way to snow. Instinctively, William wrapped his arms around himself. Just the sight of snow always made him feel cold. It was just that time of year, wasn't it? No longer the fluctuation between mild and cold. Now it would be just cold.

And that should have made him crawl under his blankets, but it didn't. He was drawn by an ineffable feeling to the snow and its sparkling purity. Why was that?, he asked himself, as he pulled on shoes and a coat and made for the doorway. The hall stood deathly quiet and William guessed it was much closer to morning than midnight. No candlelights flickered under the door frames, and no whispers broke the glistening calm.

He slipped out the door and even then things were quietly still.

This was the sort of thing he'd been hoping for, wasn't it? An unimaginable quiet to calm his tense nerves and relieve his fevered mind. The sweat that had clung to his body cooled as he trekked out into the cold. He found himself enveloped by the tree line before too long. The dorm became a ghostly figure among the shivering trees.

He continued his solitary walk. His mind was strangely blank, only receptive to his current surroundings. The snow was soft here. Every now and then he heard it fall in clumps from the branches. Yes, here was perfectly nice and quiet. And for some reason, he felt warm despite the cold surrounding him.

That's when he heard the voice.

"Man has no Body distinct from his Soul." William's eyes shot upwards. On a branch sat a man reading from a book. "For that call'd Body is a portion of Soul disercern'd by the five Senses, the chief inlets of Soul in this age." The man seemed to glow, but it was not the light of the moon that illuminated him. "Energy is the only life, and is from the Body; and Reason is bound or outward circumference of Energy."

With a snap, the man shut the book closed. "Energy is eternal delight." He chuckled. There was a spark and the book turned to ashes in the man's hands.

The man turned towards him. "To think that humans desire a marriage between Heaven and Hell." His eyes filled with light. "But you're too sensible for this sort of drivel, aren't you, William?"

"You… you're—," William stepped back. The snow crunched beneath his feet.

"So you've finally figured it out." The man said. Suddenly, a flurry of snow surrounded him. William closed his eyes, bracing his arms as it flowed toward him. Yet, where he expected biting cold, the snow merely tickled his cheeks. He opened his eyes. It wasn't snow that engulfed him, he realized, but feathers.

"It's nice, isn't it?" The voice was behind him.

Before he could turn around, he felt warm hands squeeze his heart. In an instant, everything else faded away. He didn't feel as he felt moments ago, attached to a single body and a single mind. It was as if he were falling through pages of books, characters and minds and stories and emotions, and all those stories and minds were his and not his; he felt he might have been them at one point but he no longer felt any attachment to them. He felt no attachment to anything anymore. As if he was infinite, a perfect circle, completely whole. Completely free.

"Do you want to see Heaven now?" the angel asked.

He reached out his hand to it and felt himself lift off.

* * *

Dantalion frowned. Had he been a human, he would have sniffled or sneezed or shivered, wrapping his arms around himself and glaring at the loathsome lumps of white outside. But he didn't need to, so he only grimaced for a long, long time.

Yet, the true reason he was upset was that he had prepared a hearty breakfast for William (on his own!) and the boy wasn't even in his room to enjoy it. He knew, according to the notebook he kept in his school jacket, that he was ahead of William's typical rising time by fourteen minutes. That huge margin of error should have been mitigated by William's cold. Yet, the tea was cold in its pot now and the food hasn't been so much as touched. He bit his lip; he'd never do this sort of thing again, too much work and no reward.

As if on impulse, he scanned the area for William's presence. At once, he was everywhere in Stratford, his mind probing the area for different snippets of information. He heard the laughter of boys in the courtyard, faces red, tucked in warm, expensive coats. He smelled the familiar scents of Sitri and Camio, who had long ago stopped trying to conceal their presence. Yet, when he reached out for William, nothing happened. There was no trace of him, not a whisper or a sigh.

He rushed out the room, practically slamming into the boys in the hall.

"H-Huber!?" They stumbled backwards, almost losing their balance, but by the time they looked back their classmate was gone.

Dantalion tore into the school yard and looked helplessly around. The dull winter sun hung like an egg trapped in spider silk. Black coats shuffled in the chilly breeze and Dantalion's eyes shot to the trees lining the far side of the river. He ran toward the trees, his reflexes too quick to slide on the slick, icy path. Boys around him buzzed with comments, but his senses were keyed in on the last remaining trail of William's scent.

"William?" He shouted as he finally broke into the woods. Nothing greeted him except the snapping of branches. His breath came out in visible streams, hanging around his face like comets orbiting a planet.

Suddenly, something moved out of the corner of his eye. His heart leapt. Perhaps his worries had been unfounded, maybe William was perfectly fine—

"What did you do to him, Nephilim? Where is he!?" Branches scattered everywhere as Sitri rushed at him from between trees. In another moment, the demon had seized his collar, pulling fiercely at the fabric.

"Me? You think I did something to William?" Dantalion swatted the hands away. Sitri's cheeks were swathed in pale pink, his eyebrows pointed like peaks over icy, crystal eyes.

"Hmph. When I find out where you've put him, I'll—"

"You'll what?" Dantalion titled his head cheekily. Fire licked at his finger tips as he held up his hand.

"I'll never trust a Nephilim like you." Sitri backed away. Dantalion grinned. He'd been itching for something warm since the cold crept in, the excuse for something heated.

"If it's going to be that way, I'll finish you off right now," he threatened, ready to strike him if he so much as lifted a finger.

"I don't have time for this, I have to find William." Sitri scoffed and dashed away.

"Hey!" He sighed, looking down at the ground, dusty snow sparkling on his shoes. He'd almost gotten carried away. Without another thought, he raced in Sitri's direction. What was left of William's presence had waned to a tiny stream, and he followed it fiercely. He made his way through the trees and finally descended upon a small clearing.

Sitri had beaten him there, but there was no look of satisfaction on his face.

"It doesn't make any sense." Sitri did not face him. His face was tilted upwards, toward the sky that expelled tiny drops of snow. "He wouldn't—it can't just end here."

Dantalion shifted uneasily. Perhaps because Sitri's words were the exact same dialogue that ran through his own head. William's scent and everything else about him ended right there. That wouldn't have surprised him if he'd suspected that someone from Hell was behind this. Yet, what puzzled him even more was that there was no trail at all. Not even the familiar scent of Hell lingered here. He could find no trace at all, as if William had simply vanished from existence.

"I'll ask you again, Nephilim," Sitri's voice was deep and cold this time. His eyes glinted with a steely determination. "What did you do to William?"

"Shouldn't I ask you that question?" Dantalion shot back. He wondered how he had ever gotten along with such a conceited brat. Perhaps he'd only pretended to in order to please William. Yet, if William wasn't here…

Sitri shot at him, hands pointed at his face. He grabbed Sitri's wrists and held him back. "How dare you try to blame me. Of course it was you! This is just another one of your tricks, isn't it? Don't think I'll believe you again."

"Tricks? You're delusional. It's you who resorts to underhanded schemes every chance he gets. You tried to trick William when you first came here."

Sitri wrung himself out of Dantalion's grasp. "That was a long time ago. Besides, things are different now." He flicked his wrists. 

"Not that different," Dantalion countered. "It's obvious you've stopped caring about the election. Why are you still here? There's no reason for you to be here."

"Yes there is! I protect William from people like you."

Dantalion's eyes narrowed. He didn't care how many times Sitri called him Nephilim or insulted him. But if Sitri was claiming William needed to be protected from him…

The force came so suddenly that Sitri had no time to react. He was flung against a tree, the branches clattering as the forest shook from the impact.

"You have no idea what I've gone through to protect him," Dantalion muttered darkly. He approached Sitri, a pillar of fire growing in his open palm.

Sitri jumped to his feet, his back against the tree. Dantalion's eyes pierced him with a haunting hatred. Deep down he knew that Dantalion cared for William in a way that he couldn't comprehend. Yet, under the demon's uncomfortable gaze, he could only feel anger.

"You killed Solomon. Just how am I supposed to trust you?" This time Sitri was ready. He raised his arms and shielded himself with his own power just in time for a rush to sweep past him. The trees shook again, the forest clattering in its wake.

"Dantalion… you…" Sitri cursed under his breath. Burning branches fell to the cold ground, their ashes twirling softly. He ran his fingers through his hair and flung away the debris. "Just like a Nephilim to have no self control."

Dantalion did not respond. He merely stood ready and silent with another fireball in his palm, his eyes unreadable. Sitri knew that Dantalion was as confused as he was, that they were both worried about William and they both had no idea what to do. But, in the demon world, violence was the great communicator. Brutality and ruthlessness elevated one so much higher than talking. Sitri clenched his hand into a fist. In truth, he had no idea _how_ to talk to Dantalion. It was strange. He saw the demon everyday, but he knew so little about him. 

Another rush of flames sped at him as he propelled himself toward their epicenter. The power in his palm pulsed as he made for a direct hit, a vicious swirl of magic laced with frustration and hate. Just as he was about to strike Dantalion, something grabbed his waist and held him back.

"No, you can't!"

Sitri stopped, his powers dissipating instantly. Sean Christian had managed to wrap his arms around him and hold him back with all the strength his tiny body could muster.

"Sean!?" He gasped, balancing until he was on both feet. The arms eventually loosened and he was free. "What are you doing here?"

"I… I thought it was strange that both you and Huber were going into the woods. I'm sorry I followed you, but I thought you must be looking for Master too!"

"Sean…" Dantalion walked up to him. He'd calmed down considerably, panic giving way to rationality. "Did you see us just now?"

The boy steadily shook his head, his eyebrows furrowing and his lips tightening. "I…"

"Do you, do you know _what_ we are?" Sitri asked. 

Sean gave a shy nod. "I have a good idea. I mean, I have heard Morton talking about the two of you sometimes." He lowered his head, his voice a whisper. "He says you are demons." Then, Sean's head shot up and he looked at the both of them. "I suppose you'll kill me now. Drag me to Hell. Consume my immortal soul." Almost at once, the demure look in Sean's eyes faded away. "But really, I don't care." He faced Sitri almost vehemently. "If that's what it takes to find out what happened to Master then…"

"Sean…," Sitri started.

"I didn't see him in passing like I usually do, so I went to investigate. I wanted to ask the two of you but…" his voice trailed off.

"We have no idea where he is either!" Dantalion and Sitri said in unison.

Sean looked up toward the sky. "So it's begun, huh?"

They eyed him curiously.

"Winter, I mean. It's even colder here than it is where I'm from."

"Sean, what is it that you want?" The underclassman's head shot towards Dantalion, who stood stoic, piercing him with narrow, reddish eyes.

"I'm worried about my master," he said. There was no boyish effervesce in his tone anymore. His lips confined themselves to a thin line and his face grew sullen. "It's not like him to do this sort of thing all of a sudden...and with it being so cold out."

Dantalion nodded. Was there anything to add, really? He felt it too—a sort of pining regret and drowning guilt, as if the world had disappeared from underneath him all at once and he was falling into a hopeless abyss of worry. He exhaled fiercely through his lips. It wasn't like him to worry so much. No, that wasn't it at all. Ever since William, all he'd done was worry.

"We need to find William as soon as possible." His eyes took on a glum expression. "Fighting will only distract us."

Sitri couldn't find it in himself to agree with him. 

"I have someone I have to see," he said, turning his back on the two of them.

As the sound of the his footsteps disappeared, Sitri glanced at Sean.

"Why did you do that? Why did you just rush out like that? We could have killed you."

He was silent for a long while. A bit of wind rustled through the trees and the branches creaked.

"I've given it some thought," Sean looked at his shoes. "And I think it's because I like you, Sitri." Sean looked up, smiling.

"D-don't say such silly things!" Sitri stammered, stepping back.

"Why not?"

"Y-you should know why!"

"I guess there's no helping it then." The underclassman's smile grew wider, his eyes glittering. "I think you're really cute. And really kind as well." His smile did not break. "Even for a demon." 

Sitri bit his lip. He could think of no response for silly humans lost in their own strange fantasies. Perhaps Sean was as bad as Isaac. Yet, not even Isaac would say such disturbing things. He started on the walk back.

"Suit yourself." He tried to remain as cool as possible, but his breath was unsteady and his steps uneven. He didn't recall Dantalion hitting him in the chest, but now a pain like that infiltrated him and his better sense of reason. "Just don't do that again." He said sharply.

Sean continued to smile. "I can't promise that."

* * *

Raguel's eyes narrowed to thin slits in the wan light. "What brings you here, demon?"

"Shouldn't that be the question I ask of you? Where's Uriel?" Upon entering the church, Dantalion expected to charge the angel with questions and demands. Yet, the angel he'd been looking for was nowhere to be found. Instead, another angel now lit the candles that had been blown out when he'd slammed through the doors.

"Before you jump to conclusions, my master had no part in it."

"So you know something. Tell me where he is before I burn this whole place down!"

The angel looked forlornly at him.

"Where have they taken him?"

Raguel sighed. "Not even I know. I was only told to stay here in place of my master."

"Then you'll burn in place of your master as well."

Despite the threat, the angel continued to light the candles. His movements were so precise that not even wax dripped from them. 

"You know that will not bring the one you seek back. And yet you still persist."

Dantalion gripped a pew for support. "Then _where_ is he?"

Perhaps it was the church, but his anger was gradually subsiding. Panic was giving way to determination, hatred to a fixed goal.

The angel bowed his head, the candlelight obscuring his features. "I am under specific orders to protect this area. If you or your colleagues threaten this area or its residents, I will be there to stop it. There is nothing more that I know."

Dantalion ground his teeth. "So that's it then? You just calmly accept whatever they tell you to do? You don't question it? You don't even know the first thing about it?" The wooden pew splintered under his grip. "I fear for William's safety even more now." His was not the panicking fear from moments ago. This fear was deep, something mysterious and unknowable.

Raguel said nothing. In truth, he had questioned the whole ordeal and why his master had to be a part of it. Yet, there was no point in telling the demon that. "Perhaps you have a misconception about Heaven, demon." Dantalion's eyes shot up at him. "We are not all mindless slaves. He have our own goals, our own fears. And each of us has something that must be protected, even with our own lives."

Dantalion grew quiet. Fighting with the angel now would get him nowhere. He could imagine himself tearing off the angel's wings and incinerating them, but that would not get William back. If it was as the angel said, Heaven had him now. And for demons, Heaven was infinitely far away.


	3. Chapter 3

The sound of flowing water was hard to escape in Heaven. The floating islands seemed to have an endless supply of the stuff, but it was likely that the residents were nearly deaf to the sound. Only when Metatron truly focused could he hear it and even then it was more of a faint whisper than the roaring sound he'd heard when he'd first arrived.

Even in an inner chamber, he could hear it. But something even more omnipotent than the sound of water in Heaven currently had his attention.

"We upset them quite a bit you know. They'll probably turn that whole school upside down looking for that boy."

"I care nothing for demons, and even less for angels who cannot carry out their duties," Michael scoffed. Despite his words, his mood seemed less irritable than it had in ages.

Metatron cocked an eyebrow. "Surely you aren't talking about me?"

Michael held his silence. There was something on his mind, Metatron could tell. Something moving and swirling, making his nose scrunch and his teeth clench. Metatron found the look quite endearing, like a lion cub attempting a roar like that of its father's.

But his attention was soon diverted. Someone else had entered the room. Or rather, Metatron realized, they'd been there all along.

"Isn't that right, Uriel?" Michael asked, his attention on a near wall and not on the angel in question.

Metatron noticed it now, Uriel was indeed in the room, a grim expression etched on his face.

"You must return him to the human world, Master Michael. His consciousness may still be intact. He won't—"

Michael let out a laugh. "Won't what?" Michael's eyes narrowed. "You know as well as I do that the human soul is easily swayed toward Hell. Can you tell me with all honesty that the boy wasn't enticed by the demons?"

Uriel remained silent.

"I thought so." Michael's smile was thin and small. "As of now, you'll have new duties. This new task will be for your dear William, so I trust you'll have no objections."

Metatron waited patiently, listening to every word of Michael's plan. Uriel shuffled out, but there was something measured in his steps, something Michael should have noticed but didn't. Meanwhile, the angel unceremoniously flopped on the chair. The authoritative air he'd heald mere seconds ago gave way to exhaustion. "Now what do you want?"

"I merely came to inquire about your health."

"As if I'd _believe_ something as suspicious as that. Spit it out!"

"But you've had your hands full with that human. It must be taking a lot out of you."

"Pfft. Just like the human you are. Ready to jump at the chance of succession."

Metatron clucked his tongue. "You know me better than that."

He stepped toward Michael and put his arms on his shoulders. Michael tensed and swatted his hands away. "I've told you not to touch me, human!" His face turned a deep scarlet. Metatron grinned.

"You know I only want the best for you. You're not getting any younger, perhaps it's time to sleep soon."

Michael grinned darkly. "Say I did go to sleep soon. Who would be suitable to rule in my place? Certainly not _you_. Just think of the prospects. None come to mind, do they?" His shrewd red eyes flashed slyly at Metatron. "Uriel's incompetent and Raphael's in his own world. No, don't even think of the others. They're all too single-minded to handle such a grand task. Not even my dear Jeanne." He looked up wistfully at the vaulted ceiling. When his head lowered, his eyes revealed a keenness that Metatron knew very well. "What I need is someone I can raise myself. An heir who will pick up where I leave off. Someone with extraordinary wisdom and talent."

Metatron played along. "So it wasn't just to keep him out of the demon's hands, was it?"

"Perhaps you're more clever than you look, human."

"Perhaps…" Metatron said and nothing more.

* * *

Dantalion burst out of the church, his emotions somewhere between apprehension and hopelessness. How could this have happened? He thought he'd been careful. He thought he'd _told_ William to be careful. Yet, almost like a premonition, his words had signaled all of his worst fears. William was gone and there was nothing he could do.

Still, he refused to give up. There had to be some way to rescue William. He just needed to think.

Ranks of boys huddled in the foyer draping themselves in scarves and coats when he entered. He cut a line through them, his bearing eliciting whispered remarks.

"Huber seems off today, don't you think?"

"Did something serious happen?"

"Cut from the team? No, I doubt it."

They resumed their hushed gossip when they thought Dantalion was out of earshot. Yet, the demon listened earnestly, holding out for a hint about William. Disturbingly, none came. Not even the observation that the usually tactful student was absent from his morning classes. Searching desperately for another clue, he sought out Isaac.

"William?" Isaac repeated, readjusting his scarf. "No, I can't say that I've seen him recently."

Dantalion searched his face, but the human appeared to be telling the truth.

"Do you recall anyone hanging around William? Even that Elliot Eden kid?"

"Eden? No, I haven't heard much from the either of them lately. Why?"

"Aren't you concerned he's been missing?"

"Missing? No, that can't be right." Isaac squeezed his eyes shut, his enormous eyebrows adding to his consternation. "He's…" He rested his palm on his forehead. "I can't remember…" His eyes went blank for moment. Dantalion held his breath. When Isaac returned to his usual calm, Dantalion could tell that it was already too late. "What was it we were talking about again? Eden? No, I haven't heard much from him lately? Why?"

"Forget it," Dantalion left, biting his lip at the terrible choice of words. The humans would be no help. There was only one other that he could think of to see.

Sitri scowled as he entered. He would have paid a likewise glare, but his sights soon fixed on the other demon in the room. He closed the door and stared at Camio, whose attention seemed to be fixed on some spot out the window. His back was turned, yet a discerning look from the reflection in the glass told Dantalion that that his pretense was acknowledged. He began his story, sure to tell his side in case Sitri had intentionally told a different account of the events.

Camio sighed, fingering the curtain tassel idly. "So William and Uriel are missing and the humans have been brainwashed? And on top of that, Heaven has sent someone to keep us in check?"

Dantalion crossed his arms and lent against the wall. "That's about it. Given everything we've learned so far, Heaven must have a hand in it."

"There's no doubt about that." Camio turned around. His expression was surprisingly cool, but Dantalion could tell, behind those golden eyes, his mind was working through the information like a complex human machine. "But to what extent? And why?"

Dantalion pushed himself off the wall and moved toward the center of the room. "I have no idea but we can't just sit around like this. Every moment wasted is… William… he…"

"The question is," Camio tucked his chin, cupping his hand underneath it, "how best to proceed. So far, our only lead is that angel taking up residence in the church."

"If you plan on asking him anything, it's useless," Dantalion responded. "He says he knows nothing."  _And each of us has something that must be protected, even with our own lives._ From somewhere, the angel's words came resounding back. "Besides," he said. "Even if he did know, he'd sooner die than tell us."

He would have turned around and left the room right there, but Camio's eyes shot at him with a rousing curiosity. "This angel… do you know who he works for?"

"Uriel, I think," Dantalion said.

"It must be Raguel…" Sitri muttered under his breath.

"One of Michael's would have been preferable, but I guess he will do," Camio adjusted his glasses.

"Do what? I already told you he'll tell us nothing."

Camio grinned. "He won't need to tell us anything as our hostage."

Dantalion held back his surprise. Taking a hostage was never his first option. He preferred to deal with his enemies up front. But if William was in danger, almost nothing was off-limits.

"Three demons against one angel. It could work."

"Not so fast," Sitri cut in. "Raguel is an archangel. He's more powerful than Michael's lackeys."

"And Heaven surely has more foresight than that," Dantalion assessented. "They'll probably send reinforcements at the slightest hint of danger."

"That's the idea," Camio's lips quirked. "We'll make enough commotion that Heaven won't be able to ignore us. What do you think, Sitri? Dantalion?" He turned to the both of them. Dantalion kept silent.

"It seems like a last ditch effort to me, but so far it's the only thing we have." Sitri framed his face with his hands, his head deep in thought. "If enough of them come down, someone important might come out eventually and we can hold that one for information."

"If anything, it's a plan." Dantalion returned to the far wall. "And the sooner we act on it the better. The only thing left to decide is when to make our move."

* * *

"Blessings upon you, Priest." The old woman smiled, wrinkles covering her grin like a weathered mountain ridge.

Raguel simply bowed his head. Had the Headmaster been fully aware he'd converted the church into a gathering place for the poor, he would have been duly dismissed. But the goodness in the old man's heart had been drawn out, albeit with a bit of persuasion. As long as he was head priest, the poor of Stratford could find sustenance and warmth from the church.

"Thank you, Mr. Priest!" A small boy dressed in raggedy clothing tugged at his robes. The angel smiled again, rustling up the boy's hair. Raguel held the door open as they left and watched them trek into the snow. They'd return to their humble dwellings with the threat of starvation staved back for another day. He wished he had something more to offer them, but that's where his powers stopped. Humans needed to make it on their own with as little of Heaven's intervening as possible. It was God's will.

More groups appeared, having heard of his charity. Yet, among the crowds he sensed another presence. His smile gave way to a restless expression. The demon had returned with even more ill intent than last time, a black smudge in the pale surrounding.

"I never pegged Stratford for a charitable institution," the demon folded his arms. Two others had joined him. They waited on the steps, eyeing him down with cautious stares.

"There is still goodness in men's hearts." His reply was not perterbed. "It merely requires some probing."

"Just like an angel to—" The black-haired demon began, but the conversation was soon interrupted by a cluster of people leaving the church. They thanked the priest as they left and paid no mind to the people on the steps.

"You may stay here and continue in your guise as students," he said to them after the crowd had passed. "But if you intend to harm the humans here I will defend them." He narrowed his eyes, his voice close to a whisper. "Without reserve."

The door of the church slammed shut and the three of them were left in the cold.

"He makes the saints look like marauders in comparison." Sitri observed.

"That damn angel. I know what he's up to," came Dantalion's outburst. "He's just using those humans as a shield. As long as he surrounds himself with them, he thinks we won't attack."

Camio was quick to respond. "I don't know about you, Dantalion, but I am adverse to harming these humans unless absolutely necessary. If the angel is using them as you've said," Camio shut his eyes, "then we'll need to think of a way to get him alone without causing too much of a scene."

Sitri looked at the door of the church and its sturdy walls. He did not sense a barrier anywhere around the area, but he knew one could fly up in an instant if danger was detected. On top of that, he could feel his powers weakening so close to it. "He has the advantage here, and he knows it. At this point we can't move forward without involving humans." He paused. "But William wouldn't want that… We'll just have to wait for now."

Dantalion looked around. Another impoverished crowd was making its way toward the church; it didn't look like they'd get the angel alone anytime soon.

"Although…" Dantalion grinned. "We don't necessarily have to involve humans…" He dug his hands in his pockets, looking like he was warding off the chill. His shoulders shuddered, as if he were holding in a bout of hysterical laughter. Sitri and Camio gave each other worrying looks, but by the time they looked back, Dantalion had already vanished.

* * *

Raguel let himself rest a moment as the last of the humans poured out of the church. The cold afternoon had given way to a brisk evening and snow was once again falling just as it had the previous night. He closed his eyes, taking in his surroundings, but the demons did not seem to be in his immediate vicinity. Breathing a sigh of relief, he closed the heavy church doors and started to work on arranging the hall for the next morning's service. Cleaning allowed him to enter a meditative calm and he found himself enjoying the task immensely more than he should have.

As he shined the pews, snippets of the previous night came back to him. Master Uriel's expression had been a dour one and Raguel had tried in vain to quell his nervous heart. Wouldn't everything be alright now?, he'd asked. Michael would no longer need to come after Uriel now that William Twining was in Heaven. Yet, Raguel's chest still felt heavy and he could not escape the feeling of guilt that descended upon him like a soiled spot on the floor. Master Uriel was surely miserable now and Raguel could offer no comfort in his current position.

'I must go,' Uriel spoke, his speech rushed. The night wind howled when he opened the door.

'But what will you do?' Raguel asked. "Surely you don't mean to—" He could not utter the next words.

"If it comes to that, will you…" Uriel began, but paused. "No, never mind. Protect the humans here. When those demons figure out what's going on, they may resort to violence."

Raguel placed a hand on his heart. "Of course, Master Uriel. But what was it you—"

Before he could finish Uriel had vanished.

Now he moved to the pulpit, the rag grimy in his hands. When he ascended the steps, he spied a leg poking out from the back of it. He gently touched the leg with his palm. At once, it shook and then the boy it was attached to shot up, rubbing his eyes. He blinked twice, adjusting his eyes to the low light.

"Ah! Mr. Priest! I'm sorry!" The boy was dressed in the same clothing as the people that had been in the church earlier, albeit shabbier. Raguel doubted the boy would last the walk home in such a tattered coat.

"Everyone has already left," he said calmly. "You will have to run home to catch up with your family."

"Well, that's the thing…" The boy brought his knees to his chin, smiling sadly. "I haven't got one."

"I see," Raguel set the rag down and moved closer to the child. "You are welcome to spend the night here."

"Really Mister?" The child's eyes gleamed.

Raguel nodded. "I have a small office and room. You are welcome to sleep on my bed. Or rather, it is my master's bed. I am merely filling in for him at the moment."

"But you're a priest!" The boy exclaimed, his eyes growing wide. "I didn't think priests had masters."

"I have two masters, actually."Raguel closed his eyes and gently opened them again. "One I fear for, and one I am fearful of."

It had been a long time since Raguel held any sort of meaningful conversation with a human. Yet, here he found himself confiding his own feelings to the orphaned boy. Normally, he wasn't very talkative, yet talking seemed to ease his mind a bit.

"I have a master, too," the boy said, looking meaningfully at the ceiling. "Or at least, I used to. He was a demanding person. He was always telling me what to do and if I didn't he'd give me such a beating. So I…" The child's voice trailed off.

"You are still young," Raguel tried to comfort him. "You will find other masters. Ones that will treat you kindly. Ones that you will teach to see the kindness in themselves."

"But what about you, Priest?" The boy looked up at him. "Can't you find another master too?"

Raguel shook his head. "I'm afraid it's too late for me. It's always been too late for me." He continued to shine the wooden furniture. Eventually, the boy joined in and they finished their work rather quickly. Although the boy did not look happy to do such a menial task, he did not complain. Indeed, some masters did not deserve the servants they had, Raguel realized.

* * *

Sitri massaged his temples. Waiting for Dantalion's plan to take effect gave him a chance to relax and for once he was a tiny bit grateful for the scheming Nephilim. Still, he doubted it would work perfectly. There was still Raguel's strength to consider and whoever Heaven sent as back up. Sitri reached for the nearest confection and chewed on it slowly. The good thing about winter in the human world was that sweets didn't melt quite as fast as they did during the warmer seasons.

A knock at the door tore his attention from the listless thoughts.

"Yes?" He called.

"Oh, you're here." The door opened slowly and Sean Christian entered. "May I come in?"

Sitri nodded.

"I…" Sean's face contorted to one of great worry the second he closed the door. "I'm worried about Master."

Sitri took one last bite of the sweet and set it aside. "Dan-, I mean, Huber and I looked into it and we think we may have a lead."

"It's not just that, though…" Sean looked down, his lips squirming.

"Sean, if you know something you have to tell us. The more information we have, the quicker we can rescue him."

"Well, that's it, actually." The student looked up at him. His expression had gone to one that held neither guilt nor innocence. "You said you were a demon, didn't you?"

Sitri rose from his seat. "What does this have to do with William?" His voice was higher, in spite of himself.

"I didn't mean to offend you," Sean backed up a little. "But if you're demons and Master is involved with you it must mean…"

Stiri shook his head, his stance relaxing. "You've known William for long enough, haven't you? He's not easily cajoled by tricks, especially ours."

"So he hasn't sold his soul?" The student's face brightened.

"Of course not!" Sitri held a hand to his hip. "Our interests in him are purely political. Or rather, that's what it _was_. You see, we have a history with him. It's a long story…"

Sean held his heart and breathed a sigh of relief. "So you guys won't be eating his soul."

"I prefer sweeter things," Sitri crossed his arms.

"I'm glad we cleared that up," Sean smiled. Suddenly, his hand reached up and touched Sitri's face, moving over the skin slowly.

"Hey, what are you—" Sitri stammered, surprised at the sudden gesture. Just as he said the words, Sean's finger grazed his lip.

In another instant, Sean's touch left him. A piece of cream now sat atop the boy's finger, one he promptly brought to his own lips. "I couldn't help myself. It looked so tasty." His expression did not betray regret. Instead, it looked deliberate. Cool. Sitri stood silently still, waiting for something to break the uncertainty he felt. Sean did not stay another moment. He flew through the door, wishing him a goodnight. Sitri, too, did not have long to dwell on the matter. Right after Sean, Dantalion came.

"It's time," he said in a low tone.

"Your plan better work, Nephilim." His sneer was not entirely genuine, but Dantalion nodded gravely all the same.

"I hope so, too."

* * *

A scant bit of moonlight shone through the clouds illuminating the last clumps of snow in the courtyard. Camio breathed out and followed the trail his breath made. He would have preferred a scarf to wrap around his neck, but it would be of little use soon. His feet moved swiftly across the courtyard to the church, his steps practically soundless. Every so often, a cloud covered the moon and the surroundings were cloacked in darkness. In one of those instances, he transformed.

So Heaven had made finally made its move. The thought flashed across his mind, unhurried, as if it were waiting for a larger sense of certainty. Yet, nothing came. His mind was blank, his nerves restless. Was the time significant in any way?, he tried to question himself. Was there some reason why Heaven just _had_ to have William at that moment? And still, he didn't even know the circumstances surrounding the disappearance, or who had brought it about. It was a rare moment when Camio much preferred dealing with the residents of Hell, but that's what kept going through his head in the brisk walk. If it had been Hell's doing, he would have known exactly how to act, exactly how to navigate the devious political undercurrents of that chaotic world.

Now, he needed to be careful with his movements. The last thing they needed was an all-out war against Heaven. With Lucifer weak, Hell lacked a central unit of command, which made it sensitive to large scale attacks. The Four Kings were already struggling for power with the election, a war could see their relations turn sour. Camio winced. Hell didn't need a civil war on top of an invasion. They needed to get William back as soon as possible to avoid a possible power conflict.

Still, it gave Camio no comfort that William was involved in the situation. He didn't want to think what Heaven was doing to him.

A shout interrupted his thoughts. He spied figures moving outside the church. So Dantatlion's plan was working—but for how long he couldn't tell. He played with a spark of lightning in his palm; he refused to give the other demon too much credit.

* * *

 Raguel was sure he'd been vigilant. He was sure the barrier he'd set up was strong. Why? Then why was the boy in the arms of the demon now, practically begging for his life?

"Mister!" The boy screamed as the demon clutched him in one arm. The other demon was here too, bright auras shining at his fingertips. There was no doubt they'd come for a fight.

"I warned you, demons, if you threatened the humans here my judgement would not be merciful."

"Then come out of hiding," the tall demon smirked. "I want to see Heaven's wrath up close."

"Very well," Raguel stepped out of the church. A wind bellowed through his robes and in an instant he'd transformed, his wings flared to mete out retribution. Before he began his offense a thought flashed across his mind. He cast a barrier to surround them. As long as it was up—as long as he was alive—their fight would be confined to a small area free of human bystanders, excepting one.

"Mmmph!" The boy continued to struggle, but the demon had quite a hold on him.

"Dantalion, Grand Duke of Hell," he said, "And Sitri, Viscount of Hell. I intend to carry out my duty even if it means ending your lives." Another thought flashed through his mind, where was the third demon? "You have one last chance to hand over the human."

Dantalion did not so much as move. "You give yourself too much credit, angel. Don't you know it'll be _us_ ending your life tonight?"

"Ah, yes, Dantalion," Raguel prepared a spear in his hand. It glowed pale blue, a shining light warm to the touch. "I've heard the stories. The mad demon who takes out entire legions on his own." He raised the spear. "But I will not be such an easy opponent. I am known in the human world as the angel of justice and my role is to wipe out injustice." He flung the spear at Dantalion.

As he might have guessed, Dantalion avoided the attack, jumping upwards at the right moment. It mattered not. He opened his mouth. His voice cut clear through the air, a song older than time. As he flew upwards, golden letters of language spiraled around him, creating a shell of light. When the light faded, he was wrapped in an aura, as impenetrable as his power permitted. He doubted even two demons could cut through it. He gathered glowing sparks around him and three spears formed in another instance outside his protective shell.

"Dantalion, look out!" Sitri called. He paid the other demon little mind as he aimed one at Dantalion. The demon was quick to dodge again, one after another. The spears hit the barrier, dissolving into a fine mist of sparks.

"Is that all you've got, angel?" Dantalion shouted. His grip on the boy was loosening, Raguel could tell. What concerned him more was that the demon could drop him at any moment and send him hurtling to the ground.

Raguel gathered more spears around him. Five in succession were hurled at the demon, who avoided each one with smug nimbleness. Sparks continued to rain down, falling on Dantalion and the human.

"Well, this is boring me," the demon sighed. He turned to his comrade. "Don't you think it's time we rough this guy up a little?"

"Don't mistake me for a friend just because we have the same goal, Dantalion," the other one shouted back at him. Yet, the effect was the same. A burst of light crackled in his hand. Within seconds, the flash was speeding toward him. Raguel stayed still. It hit his shield, the energy fizzing around the aura until it dissipated.

"W-what was that?" Sitri gasped. "My power doesn't…"

He had no time to complete his sentence, however, as Raguel sent the energy bolting back at him. Sitri was knocked off his feet by the force. As he struggled to get back up, Raguel floated upwards, giving him a vantage point above the two demons.

"I harbor no hatred for demons," he said, his somber tone carrying itself across the enclosed battlefield. "For they too are part of God's will." In an instant, a dozen spears surrounded him in a cage of glowing light. "But I will not allow you to interfere with my duties." Sitri rolled away as he struck down the spears, but the demon was not fast enough and one hit him in the arm. Sitri screamed as the spear dissipated into light. Raguel readied another spear for the finishing blow, but a blast of fire obscured his line of sight.

"Don't get distracted, angel." Dantalion held the boy in a chokehold. "I have something that you want, don't I?"

The demon's grip tightened and the boy squirmed. "M-mister…"

Without thinking, Raguel rushed toward the demon. Flares hit him from all directions, but his shield withstood them. Another dozen of spears surrounded him.

He reached out his arm. "Hand him over now, demon. Surely a human is not worth losing your life over."

The demon's eyes glared at him fiercely. "That's what you think."

Before Raguel could respond, the human was flung toward him. The boy bounced off his shield and fell. Without a moment's hesitation, Raguel dissolved the aura and rushed after the boy. He caught hold of the boy just before he touched the ground.

"Are you alright?" He asked him.

He felt the heat before he saw it. A whirlwind of fire raced toward him. With no choice, he covered himself and the boy with his wings. The fire wrapped around him and the smell of burning feathers filled the air. He bore the pain, tightening his lips to avoid a screech that lingered at the boundary of his lips. Just when he thought he could take no more, the pain subsided. He opened his wings cautiously, peaking through at the demons.

That's when he realized the boy was gone. He looked below, afraid he had dropped him during the inferno. Yet, a snicker of laughter made his eyes flash upwards. Above him, Dantalion smiled. At his side a tiny bat flapped.

"Took you long enough, Master! I couldn't stand another instant in that church!"

Suddenly, another blast came and he fell to the ground, his wings still singed from the previous attack.

The barrier he'd raised crashed down like glass. In its place stood a new one, blood red against the night sky.


	4. Chapter 4

It was only now that Raguel was aware of the cool and callous night air surrounding him. It cut over his scorched wings, the heat from Dantalion's fires leaving him. But when it left him a new feeling emerged. He could not call in betrayal, because that was not what it was. This feeling was something deeper, what he felt whenever he looked at Uriel's one wing. And yet he could not feel bitter. He could only blame himself, because he should have expected as much.

"That was a clever trick, demon," he said as he gently stroked his wings. The blackened feathers fell away as he touched them, leaving browned ones behind. It would take time to heal such an injury, but he doubted the demons above him would give him such time. Another flare glowed in Dantalion's hands, this one much weaker than the previous attack. On his other side, Sitri held his arm, but there was no pain in his face, and his uninjured hand revealed the same spark of energy that he'd struck with earlier. Raguel grew tense.

"Maybe so," Dantalion replied, but his earlier snickering was gone. He faced the Raguel with a solemn expression. "But you angels are no better. How many lives have you ruined, Raguel? How many humans have you brought to Heaven before their time? Against their will?"

Raguel steadily rose to his feet. The other demons moved in closer, ready to hit him at any sudden threat.

When he spoke, he spoke softly, in a tone as sad as a whisper in a tomb. "Humans have endless potential. Who is to say if it is truly against their will, in the end?" Someone's red eyes and sly smile flashed in his mind. "The saints are indeed powerful. Perhaps one day they may prove stronger than even us archangels."

Just as he finished the words, a blast of light bolted through the air. In another instant, it hit his chest, a pain small and sharp but still impressively vicious. He stumbled back but kept his footing. Blood trickled from his lips as he clutched his chest.

"I'll die before I see William become Heaven's pawn!" The demon with the icy glare rose up, his face as sharp as an animal's. In his hand, another spark of blue warped and wended, as if trying to get free.

Raguel held his tongue. He'd left himself vulnerable to their advances. He no longer had enough strength to send up another aura to reflect their attacks. Without giving it another thought, he dashed to the church, intent on finding shelter to heal himself. The holy power of the building would also weaken their powers. At least, he hoped.

The doors of the church flung open just as he reached the steps. He could feel their attacks trying to hit him, but he was sure he'd make it. Just a few more—

A flash of green lightning hit him from the between doors, sending him flying to the ground. He saw only the cloudy sky and felt only the shooting pain as his scorched wings came into contact with the hard ground.

Dantalion stepped on his wings, and he held back a scream. "Took you a little long, didn't it, Camio?"

The aforementioned demon emerged from between the church's doors. It did not seem like he took any pleasure from the attack, his voice was somber and chilling like the wind. "You were never in any danger as far as I could tell," he said tersely, walking toward the others in measured steps.

Raguel tried to sit up, but he was met with a certain pressure, as if something were pulling him down. "Not so fast," a chuckle came from above.

Suddenly, dark tendrils wrapped around him. Raguel struggled to get away from them, but the more he moved, the more they bound him. He could feel their darkness tainting him, but he could do nothing about their paralyzing force.

* * *

Dantalion was not particularly overjoyed to see Camio. He'd wasted more power than he should have in those flashy displays. Even now, the angel was consuming his energy as he kept up the binding spell.

"So when will they come out?" He asked at once. He did not feel the need to explain about Heaven's messengers.

Camio shrugged. "He's an archangel, so he's sure to have allies. They'll probably come soon to check on him."

"You mean to tell me I have to bind an angel for that long." His voice was on edge.

Camio raised his eyebrows. "Shall we let him go then?"

"No, we don't want a whole army coming here." He raised a hand to his chin and stepped off the angel's wing. "Perhaps we could probe him for some information in the meantime."

"Raguel does oversee the other angels," Sitri began. He rubbed his arm, the sting of the angel's magic still burning. "But he's probably not part of Michael's inner circle because of his affiliation with Uriel."

Camio came closer, his voice less brusque than it had been with Dantalion. "So you think Michael's behind all this?"

Sitri looked down at Raguel. In truth, he felt pity for the angel; Raguel's world was one of complicated politics where everyone walked on glass to please their master, or rather, not to get in his way. No, perhaps pity was not exactly the right word. "I do. He's the only one in Heaven who wanted William, that we know of. In fact, I doubt Uriel had anything to do with his disappearance. He's probably in Heaven right now, trying to get him back."

Dantalion leered at him. "You have a lot of faith in that angel, don't you?"

"Not really," Sitri blinked. He was tired and his arm ached. He did not wish to engage in another argument with Dantalion, and he hoped the Nephilim felt the same. "It's just he's had every chance to take William to Heaven. Doing so now wouldn't make any sense."

"That may be the case," Camio offered. "Although, if that's true, we may have to face Michael and his armies to get William back."

"So what?" Dantalion shrugged. "We've done so before. His armies are a pain, but that guy's a pushover."

"Still," Camio said. "I feel like we're missing something. Something doesn't fit."

"What do you mean?"

"It's the same feeling when we faced Michael's army in Paris." Camio's voice trailed off.

Dantalion scratched his head. He wasn't fond of standing around and speculating. If they truly wanted to get anywhere, they needed to act. "In the meantime, let's see if this angel knows anything."

The dark energy snapped over the Raguel's body, fizzling out at the tips of his wings. He'd closed his eyes in what looked like a painful slumber. "Hey," Dantalion nudged his head with his shoe. "Don't fall asleep just yet. We're not done with you."

The angel lay motionless.

"I know you can hear me."

He crouched down and grabbed a clump of the angel's browned feathers. Raguel let out a pained gasp. "I've told you already, demon. I was sent here to protect the humans, nothing more."

"Who sent you?"

The angel remained silent. Dantalion tightened his grip.

"M-Master Uriel. B-but he did not take Solomon's vessel, I can assure you that."

"What makes you so sure?"

"He—"

But he never finished. A ray of light cut through Dantalion's vision, blinding everything for a second. In another second, the angel's bonds disintegrated. In the wake of the sudden assault, Camio was the first to look for the cause of the light, his eyes squinting as his head shot towards the source of the attack. Just as he suspected, a hooded figure stood on the church's spire silhouetted against the moon.

"It must be an angel," Sitri whispered beside him. Camio sensed it too. Although the figure did not seem to have wings, there was an aura about it that was unfamiliar to him. One that rippled without menace, without darkness, but with a chilling intensity.

"What have you done with William!?" Dantalion shouted to it.

The figure drew a rapier from its side, as if challenging them.

Meanwhile, Raguel struggled on the ground. The attack and the binding had left him weak and even without the spell, he could not get back to his feet. He tried to push up on his arms, but his elbows buckled from the intense pain still in his chest. He felt the darkness at his side again.

"Dantalion, Sitri, take care of Raguel. I'll fight this one," Camio said. He gave the other demons no time to respond as he rushed up through the air. Scales wrapped around his arm and a blade protruded from the flesh.

In another instant, a sharp clang cut through the air as his blade connected with the angel's. A high, shrill sound invaded Camio's ears and the rapier was free. Camio cut his sword down but the angel jumped away, floating in mid-air above the church. The wind blew over its cloak, but its face was still shadowy, away from the light.

"Why have you come, angel?" Camio called to it. The angel skipped along the air. Its cloak bellowed in the wind, making it appear larger than it was. He brought down his blade again, but the angel's weapon interfered. Camio retreated. The angel seemed to be playing the defensive, though it was hard to tell if it wanted to fend off his attacks before going on the offensive. Camio was used to biting claws and furious fangs, the times were too few when he challenged an angel. Yet, experience seemed to have little to do with it. The angel flung his blade, jerking it against the wind. Camio caught him and the zing of the blades' disentangling rang, vibrating the air around them.

"Are you one of Raguel's subordinates or are you…" The angel thrusted its blade and Camio stepped through the air to get away. A whip-like sound echoed and suddenly Camio felt a sharp, stinging pain on his unarmed shoulder.

Camio chuckled. "Who taught you how to use a sword?" Something told him that the angel was not a soldier in Heaven's armies. Perhaps they'd simply sent a scout to check on Raguel. Still, why the…

The angel thrusted again, propelling itself through the air and straight to Camio's core. He sidestepped the angel's attack, then flung around as the angel lunged at him from the other side. His blade staved it off, but it seemed quite persistent now to land a hit.

Camio stepped up his guard as well. While quick, all the angel seemed to do was batter him with its sword. He blocked every advance, his arm moving to and fro as he anticipated the hits. "You will need more strength than that to cut through this blade."

The angel did not respond, and he found its lack of speech disturbing.

"What are you waiting for, Camio?" Dantalion called from below. "Make it talk!"

His eyes narrowed. He hated being ordered around, least of all by Dantalion.

He struck back at the angel. Now it was his blade hitting the angel's. Both angel and blade were too slow and just narrowly dodged his downward strikes.

"So it's as I thought," Camio muttered, "you are inexperienced." Was Heaven underestimating them? Adding insult to injury? If so, Camio flicked his blade, then Heaven was about to lose another angel.

He came at it again, this time with every intent of slashing it. Just as his blade was about to connect, a force sent him flying back. He slowed in mid-air, barely keeping himself from tumbling over.

"That was—," Camio muttered in disbelief. In the blast, even his sword had disappeared. But no angel's power should have been capable of that. He stared hard at the angel. The battle seemed to be taking its toll on it as well; the angel floated still in mid-air, its heavy breathing audible to Camio's ears. He flexed his wrist, his blade materializing once again.

But just as he approached, his feet dashing across the air like a stone skipping on a pond, the hooded figure jumped back, creating a greater distance between the two of them. There it sheathed its sword. Camio paused.

The air became very still then. Camio could hear his breath, the chill almost hurt to breathe. A few yards away, the angel brought up its hand and pointed toward him. Nothing happened. Camio shifted uncomfortably.

He breathed in and out. Still, nothing happened.

He stretched his arm forward, ready to launch at the angel. Suddenly, a flash in the sky made him jerk his head upwards. That's when he thought he saw a shooting star-but it did not disappear, no matter how much closer it got. Instead, it was joined by a dozen others, racing toward him at astonishing speed.  Light overwhelmed him, there was nowhere to go. The first shoot of pain came from his chest. He felt his back hit the barrier as the burning balls of heat dug into his skin. He thought he heard the others shout his name, but the sound blurred around his ears. As the burning cores crumbled away, he opened his eyes.

The magic had whipped up a furious wind in its aftershock. In the blurry, windy haze he could make out the hooded figure. Only, he wasn't hooded anymore. A shock of blonde hair blew over empty green eyes.

"Will-"

The last of his powers faded and he slid down the barrier.

* * *

 "William!" Dantalion shouted from below. "William, it's really you?" Without hesitation, Dantalion rushed toward him with yearning and dread. He was so relieved, so overwhelmed to see him again. In the hours he'd been without him his emotions had run everywhere, had taken hold and driven him to the worst of his rage. Yet, when he saw the familiar profile, his emotions stilled. He knew exactly what had happened. What they'd done to him.

"William!" He flew upwards, the wind lashing at his face.

The figure did not look at him. A ring of light opened from above, showering him in its rays. Dantalion glimpsed at it, a wonderful transportation circle, a spell of the highest order. William shot himself upwards, a motion fluid and seamless. In another moment, the ring of light was gone and Dantalion was grasping at thin air.

There was no mistake now. The angels had taken him. Dantalion floated silently back to earth. Sitri had run toward Camio and was offering him a hand, but Dantalion's only thoughts were on the angel in front of him.

"What have you done to William!" He yelled at Raguel. His foot crashed down on its chest and he heard the angel let out a groan.

"He must have performed the ceremony—" Raguel choked.

Dantalion kneeled and grabbed a fistful of the angel's feathers. "How dare you make William one of you." His voice grew vicious.

As Camio gathered his strength to stand, Sitri returned to Dantalion and the angel. As much as he incurred Dantalion's anger when they fought, he was truly afraid of the wrath Dantalion was capable of.

"Perhaps I'll make you a demon myself. Then you'll talk," Dantalion whispered, "to your new master." He ripped out a clump of feathers and scattered them along the ground. Raguel shifted to get free, but the demon's bonds were too strong. He was stuck to the ground, forced to watch his imminent demise.

"Stop it, Dantalion!" Sitri called.

Dantalion titled his head, but the demon Sitri spoke to was no longer the sensible one he knew. A tempest had invaded his eyes, a swirling of red rage. Another bunch of feathers were ripped from the angel's wings and scattered around. Raguel's eyes tightened and his body shuddered. "They've taken William. There's nothing stopping me from taking one of theirs." He continued to rip at the angel's feathers mercilessly.

This time Raguel did not try to hold back his screams.

Sitri could take it no more of it, he flung himself at Dantalion and launched the other to the ground.

"What do you think you're doing!?" Dantalion shouted.

Sitri ignored him. He stood and dusted himself off before making his way to Raguel.

"Forgive us, Holy Raguel." The angel remained bound by Dantalion's spell, but the absence of the pressure on his chest allowed him time to listen. "The human, William Twining, is important to us. If there's a way to get him back, we wish to know it."

Raguel remained silent. His eyes revealed no emotion at all.

"You no longer need to protect the humans of this area. We know where William is now. We have no need to harm them any longer."

There was a long span of quiet. The clouds moved soundlessly above, creating large, roaming shadows in the courtyard. Dantalion's barrier held, tinging everything it covered in a scarlet hue.

Raguel held his chest. His breathing was heavy when he answered. "What are you implying? You want me to help you?"

Sitri remained unfazed. "Yes."

"Do you know what you're asking me to do?"

"There is no question. I'm asking you to betray Heaven."

Raguel coughed. The night air blew over his wounds like a billion tiny icicles invading his skin and wings.

"In exchange," Sitri continued, "I offer you protection from whatever harm would befall you as a result. If you agree, I doubt Camio and Dantalion would be adverse to supporting you as well."

The angel looked at him carefully. "And if I refuse this offer?"

Sitri blinked once. "Then your rank in Hell will be high as a fallen archangel. Many demons of influence will seek your alliance before too long." His eyes darkened. "But the pain will be unbearable, even after you fall."

* * *

The angel knelt before his master, his head bowed in obsequious reverence.

"That was close," Michael observed. "But at least you managed to injure that Camio." _Brother, even your child is not infallible_. "You should have quit being stubborn ages ago. Who knows how powerful you might be by now had you joined us sooner." William felt a tap on his shoulder and rose, his body lithe, his movements light. "But I am pleased. You will make a fine archangel."

William stretched his limbs, feeling the incredible surges of power that dwelled below his fingertips.

"You still have a human body, however, so be careful," Michael advised.

"A human body?" William gaped.

"Yes," Michael nodded. "Actually, all saints do until they're sanctified. The funny thing about being sanctified is that humans have to believe you're a saint first." Michael crossed his arms, and an annoyed expression crept gently on his face. 

"When will that happen? When will I get my wings?"

Michael's lips quirked. "All in due time," he shook his head. "But I wouldn't worry too much about it. Uriel's working on it."

At the mention of that name, something inside of William quivered. All of his memories of Kevin, or rather, Uriel, were still there, but he couldn't attach emotion to any of them. They were like photos in an album that belonged to someone else; he saw them, but that was all, he could draw no connection to them, could not remember if he had been happy or sad about the individual called Kevin and could not bring himself to care.

"I have a gift for you," Michael said suddenly, _intently._

"A gift?" The memories floated away, as if a breeze had picked them up and sent them scattering.

"It will help you finish the job you started. However make sure you don't cut yourself with it."

Michael handed him a beautiful blade. It glistened like starlight.

"What is it?" He asked, admiring its beauty.

"In case those pesky demons give you a hard time. It's a very special weapon."

He looked it over. The silver piece gleamed in his hand as if it were alive.

"And this task, my lord? Will it prove my worthiness among the saints?"

Michael grinned. "Why stop at the saints?"

* * *

"That only leaves us with one option. We'll have to go to Heaven ourselves."

The school offered few places for demons to organize their thoughts, but Camio's room seemed most apt for such a purpose. It was larger than the other boys' rooms and the furniture afforded a certain luxury to its inhabitant. Yet, most of all, what his room offered could not quite be put into words. It felt familiar, hospitable, pleasant, as if their collective brooding were not even enough to sour its atmosphere. Quaint, Dantalion might have used, had he not felt restless and worried and wanting to tear it apart in frustration.

"But once you get William back, what then? He'll still be an angel," Camio inquired while scrutinizing him. He was on his sofa, his body tired and aching. The tatters in his clothing revealed burns, red and swelling.

They'd hauled the angel there and launched into a deep conversation as soon as the door was shut. Raguel, meanwhile, sat silent, his legs crossed and chin resting on his thumb on the room's most comfortable-looking chair. There was no point in running in such close quarters, and no point in fighting back against such capable threats. 

"I'm just focused on getting him back now." Dantalion stepped back, Camio's gaze too intense. "Besides... there's ways..."

"What kind of ways?" His voice sounded pained and impatient. So unlike his usual self, but Dantalion could have said the same of himself.  

"You defile the soul." Sitri came up to him. "I'm going with you, Dantalion."

"What? You can't!"

Sitri placed his hands on his hips. "I'm obviously the best suited for the job." Despite his boastful words, he seemed less tense than before, as if the battle had given him a sort of solace. Probably not, Dantalion surmised. Probably he knew exactly what it would take to get William back, and Dantlaion beat himself over and over again for not knowing what that was. Heaven, in his mind, was a void.

"You…" Dantalion started, but bit his lip. He couldn't deny it, and it frustrated him that he had no counters. 

At last, Raguel finally shifted, sitting straight up in the chair. "So you really do mean to go to Heaven?" He sounded almost as if he had not addressed the three others in the room, as if he were only talking to himself, trying to solve a great problem in his head.

"If that's what it'll take to bring William back," Dantalion mumbled. He was tired, but he was tired in the way that is most deceiving. He didn't feel exhausted, he didn't feel drained, but he knew if he sat down he would feel all those things: they'd come breeching out of his veins like thousands of flying fish from warm seas and they'd drag him down into those enticing depths. 

Raguel did not look half as surprised as he should have by the frank answer. "The human world," he began, "is closer to Heaven, or rather, the boundary between the two is thinner than it usually is at this time of year."

 _I knew that,_ Dantalion thought bitterly. Heaven had a habit of choosing the winter months to invade. He still remembered how his fires had warded off the winter chills along with their assaults.

"It may be possible for even a demon to go there," Raguel continued. 

"Don't forget," he Dantalion as an afterthought, "if you deceive us, I'll rip off your wings and make you my servant."

Raguel's face softened. It was not unlike the way Uriel's did when Dantalion caught him looking at William. "And if they discover that I've betrayed them, I'll become one as well. This method affords me more time. Perhaps I can be useful to _him_ in the end."

Dantalion did not like the tone of his voice. He did not like having to rely on an angel. But more than that, he did not like the thought of William being in the hands of Heaven for another second.

"Then tell us everything you know." 

* * *

Once upon a time, the sentinel angels guarding the armory might have bowed to him, but now they stood rigidly still, their faces veiled by thick cloth and an even thicker mien. Still, they did not stop him from entering, which should have been Uriel's first clue for what lay within. He perused the building's contents unhurried, yet his movements were hauntingly precise, as if he had practiced the scenario in his head a dozen times before ever stepping foot within. He stopped in a pool of sunlight, and his eyes fell upon a spear of pure fire in front of him, so bright it burned white. Even so, the light did not reflect in his eyes like it should have.

It was then he sensed it. Another presence was there with him. His resolve made him stay, unafraid of whatever punishment that lay before him. His feet planted themselves in the pool of light, refusing to be warded off. From the corner of his eye, he saw a pair of wings and a vibrantly colored robe.

"You've been gone for a while now. I'd almost forgotten what you looked like." Zachariel's sharp features gave off an air of cunning.

"I did not think I would be welcomed back. Nor was there much of a reason for me to return."

"That may be true," Zachariel's eyebrow arched, disappearing behind his thick black hair. "But it is not often that an angel leaves Heaven of his own free will." His discerning voice always put Uriel on edge. It was strange; he did not feel threatened by him, but there was a feeling of perpetual uneasiness, as if even his movements were not free of those keen eyes.

Zachariel let out a sigh. His face lightened slightly. "Regardless of the circumstances, it is good to see you again. We will need all the allies we can get."

"Allies?" Uriel mimicked.

"Is that not why you are here?" He trailed the angel's gaze to the racks of weapons stretching down the corridor, an endless line of beautifully crafted death.

"It's funny," Zachariel mused. It seemed to Uriel that he did not quite feel like staying on the topic at hand. "All this time it seemed as if Michael was trying to prevent Heaven from coming under anyone's control but his own,and now he's training Solomon's descendant-a human-to do his bidding." His dark eyes reflected nothing, only an endless, brooding void. "What do you suppose brought on this sudden shift, Uriel?"

"Why do you ask me for my opinion?"

"Many reasons." Zarchariel's finger swept across a long, thin blade. It glistened silver, as clear as a mirror, as clean as a frozen pond in winter's stillness. "There are problems that angels cannot solve on their own. That is why we deliberate as a team. And yet, I've missed your company at the table over the centuries."

"I… I'm not sure," Uriel shook his head. "About Michael. He's…" Terrifying if opposed.

Zachariel did not appear disappointed that he did not end the sentence. "We are the first generation of angels, only God is before us. Yet…" He said, taking a long breath that seemed more tired than dramatic, "our time is ending, Uriel. We must pass the torch to the new generation and retire into a long sleep. Michael realizes this." He tucked two fingers under his chin, a gesture he often made when he felt particularly illuminated. "He is fearful of it. He wishes to control a world that will be entirely in his image, the image of God. He will do anything to make it so."

Uriel listened silently. Truly, he had never missed the company of the other angels. Solitude was in his nature, yet listening to Zachariel made him question this preference. Few were as decisive as he was.

"And yet I cannot hate him for it." The angel tucked his arms in his sleeves once again. "He has wasted so much time, effort, and lives trying to subdue his brother, but that will not change our course. We will all need to sleep eventually. Do you know what I am saying, Uriel?"

"Even Lucifer will rest," Uriel said curtly, "and even without Lucifer, the demons have already begun the race to succession." The familiar faces he spoke about flashed before his eyes. Truly, he could not imagine any one them taking on the responsibility of ruling Hell. Simply, they had just caught William in the middle of their politics and decided to take a vacation in the human world. However, even he was somewhat guilty of what he blamed them for. "They will have the upper hand soon if nothing changes." 

Zachariel yawned.

"Zachariel?" Uriel broke free from his musings.

The other angel looked at the racks of weapons. "I grow tired of this Heaven. I long for one that must not constantly be defended. I do not think the human Michael has entrusted with the task will make it one."

Uriel remained silent and still. Zachariel's words felt like many hooks searching for a misspoken word, a damning gesture.

"You may have your squadron back, or what little there is left of it after the demons." It was then that Uriel realized what Zachariel was truly trying to say.

"Zachariel, have you joined Metatron?"

The response was a chuckle, an upward turn, a knowing grin.

"Michael may find that he was never in control to begin with."


	5. Chapter 5

Metatron knew how to hold his tongue in tense situations, yet the subterfuge was getting to him. He placed a finger to his lips and clasped his chin and watched as Jeanne of Arc spun a flag pole like a baton. In another second there was a crack that echoed along the courtyard. The practice dummy lay in pieces the next moment. She paused then, catching her breath, and sat on the fountain's edge. There, she set her pole against it and arched her back. A light sheen of sweat filmed over her body and her bangs lay messily plastered to her forehead. When she became an archangel, he mused, she would no longer have to deal with such a body.

"You are indeed powerful," he commented, "no wonder the old man chose you."

She eyed him cautiously. Yet, he found it funny how her way of cautiousness looked so much like haughtiness.

"It is thanks to _His Holiness_ that I am." She flexed, stretching her arms before her, her muscles lean and strong. Metatron parted his lips slightly to give off an expression of awe, but she did not seem to notice. She cupped water in her palm from the fountain and splashed it on her face. She did not seem to care what she looked like, but the water seemed to soften her toughness. She looked lighter somehow, peaceful. Although, Metatron recollected, she always looked that way.

"Why do you suppose," he started, seating himself by her at the fountain's edge, "he chose us?"

She looked at him quizzically, her lips pouting slightly. "I do not question him. I am a servant who does his bidding."

"But you must wonder?" he asked, his voiced trained to be innocent but persuasive. "Why us? Surely there were kings and queens greater than us. Yet few among them have the privileges that we have." He looked out at the floating islands, peaceful and calm. "Some of us were even commoners."

Jeanne knitted her eyebrows. Her strange eyes betrayed the barest hint of consternation. Metatron wanted to smile.

"And now Solomon's vessel has joined us. I'm sure you must know what that entails."

Jeanne did not answer him. She snatched her pole and stalked off back to her routine. With an elegant swing, she was no longer the pious peasant girl rallying the troops, but a dancer, elegant in form and rhythm. She sought no one's approval as she struck her targets. Her movements were composed, flashy but purposeful.

"If you think I will doubt him, you are mistaken."

"Of course not, Jeanne," he clapped his hands on his lap and then stood up. "You are faithful 'til the end."

He strode off until he reached a dense shelter of trees. Feathers swirled around him and he was Sean Christian again, bright eyed and beaming. The veil between the human world was paper thin and he peeled it back like a damp leaf on a stone. Darkness and coldness wrapped around him, and suddenly he was in the courtyard of Stratford under a murky night sky. The bold and imposing church towered above him

The chilly night air carried a smell of burning and magic.

He put a finger to his lips. "Hmm… what happened here, I wonder?"

* * *

 Raguel's explanation was simpler than Dantalion had expected. He replayed it in his head, the angel's placid eyes burnt into his memory.

"He will likely be with Michael," Raguel had said. He sat very still in the chair he'd chosen for himself. His tone reflected none of his earlier solemnity. It was matter of fact. Curt. "I shall create a portal that will lead you to his territory. But…" His voice had trailed off.

"What is it?" Dantalion had spoken impatiently.

The angels eyes darted to him. "You will most certainly be caught before you set one foot upon Heaven's holy ground."

Dantalion glared.

"They will know you are demons. Your auras, your presence will give you away immediately. Knowing this, will you still go?"

He never hesitated. "Of course. If they want a battle, we'll give them hell."

Now he waited in his room as each second ticked by with agonizing idleness. Camio had suggested they rest. Of all of them, even Raguel, Camio looked the most exhausted. He may have been hiding his weariness, Dantalion realized only now, he may have forced himself to remain in the conversation only long enough to fully grasp the plan. When he'd left, Camio must have shut his eyes and leant farther into the sofa.

Dantalion tapped his fingers on the mattress. The dawn was slowly approaching, a gray, dull light sweeping across the window pane. He might have been excited to finally get a move on, but it only signaled the beginning of a deeper anxiety. Heaven? Would he really be going to Heaven soon? Long ago it might have been a thought, but once he'd become a demon, he'd never even considered it. Heaven became an opposing force, endless legions of faceless angels lined up to smolder in his flames. It had to be a pretty place, he realized, if they were so dead set on defending it.

The first rustling of waking students tickled his ears. The early birds, the Mycroft Swallows of the world, would be out of their beds soon, ready to usher in the day. It would still take some time before Stratford was completely awake, however. Dantalion rolled onto his back, the bed creaking in protest. William. Heaven. The angels. It was all so overwhelming to think about. He knew he was exhausted, knew he should shut his eyes and for once put his fears to rest, but he couldn't escape into sleep.

Not yet.

He picked himself off the bed and paced around the room. He was about to leave to try to shake off the tension with a shuffling morning walk, when someone knocked on the door. Or rather, it wasn't so much a knock as a tap, very soft but still quite demanding.

"Dantalion?" He didn't bother walking over to open it. With a slight gesture of his palm, the door swung open and Stiri walked in. It looked as if he hadn't slept either, although it was hard to tell. Physically, there was nothing different about his face, only the look in his eyes. It seemed fixed somehow. Defeated.

"What is it?" He asked.

"I've been thinking…"

Dantalion rolled his eyes. "Oh? And do you expect this dirty Nephilim to console you?"

"Shut up, Dantalion," he snapped. "It's not about that."

"Then what?"

"When we bring William back… he might…"

"Just spit it out."

Sitri frowned. "I don't want you to hurt him, Dantalion."

Dantalion's lips creased.

"Even if he's an angel, keep his soul the way it is. Don't…"

He interrupted at Sitri's pause. "Quit worrying. There's no way I'd ever do anything like that to William."

"Even if it was the only way to make him human again?"

Dantalion stared at him. Maybe it was the tired look in Sitri's eyes. Maybe it was that he was tired himself. But the next words that came out of his mouth surprised even him.

"I'd do anything to make William go back to the way he was."

Sitri opened his mouth to protest, but promptly shut it. He recomposed himself, shaking off his fatigue like a bird shook off its feathers. "When the time comes, I won't hold back."

He gave a solemn nod for his answer. "And I won't either."

The light had brightened the room. It was a dimmed, dreary sort of light, and it made Dantalion feel even more sluggish than he already did. He whipped out his jacket and flung it on. "Just where are you going?" Sitri asked. Demanded.

"That angel wanted us to see if we could find anything to disguise ourselves."

"You mean some sort of camouflage?"

"More like costumes." He didn't need to say the rest. He was out the door and Sitri was tapping at his heels. It was still rather early, but there were more sounds in the dorm now. They heard water splashing and the resulting obscenities about its temperature. The chilly walk across the courtyard was an uneventful one and Dantalion found that the conversation with Sitri had reduced his anxiousness by the tiniest of degrees. At least they were of the mind that they would definitely get William back, that they would definitely go to Heaven in the first place.

The theater was quiet when they entered. It seemed like ages since they performed Hamlet there. Dantalion walked backstage to the storage closet, his steps echoing much too loudly in the empty room. Only a dim light shone in the back. Yet, the source of this light wasn't immediately obvious.

That worried Dantalion.

Suddenly, a shadow moved.

"Who's there?" he called, squinting. No matter how much his eyes narrowed, he couldn't make out the presence, and he found that even more unnerving. He had no time to think, however, when a great beast jumped out at him. Dantalion stepped back, surprise and fright startling him to action. He drew back his fist at the ugly creature. It seemed to have three heads and horns jutting out from all directions. He was about to strike it with all his might when he heard a tiny, peeping noise coming from somewhere above.

"Ahh! Please don't do that!"

Dantalion looked up. Far above him, Sean Christian's small body was braced against the rafters, holding the rope in one hand and a beam for balance in the other.

"Sean?" Dantalion asked. "What are you—?"

"I-I'll explain once I get down," he called, scurrying to tie the rope.

Dantalion examined the creature closely. Now that he looked at it, it was a mere prop, a monster with a moveable jaw and grotesque decorations. He wondered, idly, if it was meant to be a demon.

Sean explained his story once he was safely down. The boys in his dorm had tried to baptize him again, so he'd sought out the empty theater. In fact, he'd been sneaking out to sleep there more often than not on account of the boys' pranks.

"I thought you two were the boys from my dorm. I panicked and found the scariest prop I could in order to scare them away. I didn't count on you coming in and being so brave, Huber."

Dantalion grinned. "A simple trick like that couldn't possibly scare the great Dantalion Huber."

"You seemed pretty shocked to me," he heard Sitri mutter under his breath. Dantalion ignored him.

"Ah, that reminds me," Sean said. "Have you had any luck finding William yet?"

Dantalion and Sitri gave each other uneasy looks. Telling their plans to a mere human seemed too foolish.

"We definitely know who took him."

"Who?" Sean's eyes went wide, but the looks in their eyes seemed to dissuade him. "Ah, I see. It's not something I'm supposed to know, is it?" They didn't nod, but he seemed to take the hint. "I won't pry then. Only, I hope you'll find him and bring him back soon."

"We've actually come to gather some costumes," Dantalion lowered his voice. "For a play," he added, to throw him off the trail.

"I love acting," the sprightly underclassman practically gleamed. "One day I hope to become a full-fledged actor! What play are the two of you performing?"

"Romeo and Juliet!" Dantalion said the first thing that came to mind.

"Orpheus!" Sitri apparently did the same.

Sean titled his head.

Meanwhile, Dantalion and Sitri shot each other glares, enraged.

"What're you saying? We're obviously trying to rescue Wi—I mean Eurydice!"

"Shakespearian plays have more elegant costumes!"

"What would you know of elegance you—"

"Orpheus is a tragedy anyway!"

"So is Romeo and Juliet!"

"You don't know that. It doesn't say what happened after they died."

"Umm..." Sean piped up.

"We'd be caught before we ever entered with Shakespearian costumes. Simple Greek ones are fine enough."

"Greek costumes would give us away immediately. There's no way we'd be able to cover ourselves up with them."

Sean waited the entirety of fifteen minutes for their conversation to come to an end, but he did not seem bored, not even once.

"I think I know what sort of costumes you might be talking about," he said and bounded over to the racks of costumes, his smile never once relenting.

Within minutes, Dantalion was looking over his costume in an oval mirror. In truth, there wasn't much to look over. He wore the hooded garb of a medieval friar with a scratchy, roped belt to match. In fact, the whole outfit was quite scratchy. He was glad he hadn't been born in Medieval Europe.

 _You didn't have anything else?_ he wanted to say to Sean, but it became clear to him that the underclassman's attention was occupied elsewhere.

Sitri had come out, magnificent ribbons fluttering behind him. His costume was a long, drapey sort of dress that unfurled like flower petals. His hair fell in tresses, snowy white on top falling into cool blue at the tips. He might have blended in with the wintry landscape outside, Dantalion thought, if it weren't for the ridiculous smirk on his face.

"Ah, Sitri looks cute as always," Sean sighed. "Don't you think so, Huber?"

"Fortunately, some of use are immune to his charm," Dantalion grimaced.

"Not many." Sean left him to help Sitri with his costume. As he unfurled the airy soft fabric of the dress, a mysterious look came over his face.

"I'm really quite jealous you'll be performing with Huber," he said frankly, the good humor in his voice juxtaposed by the blunt statement. "Perhaps I'll have to audition to get the lead role for this play you'll be in."

"Don't worry, Sean. There's nothing between Dantalion and I but insults and loathing."

"Haha, I see."

Dantalion gave Sitri a look but he either didn't see it or refused to acknowledge it. "We… we'll be gone for some time Sean. Are you sure you'll manage by yourself with those older boys?" There was a sort of genuine concern in Sitri's voice and Dantalion wondered where it came from. He only used that tone of voice for William

"Don't worry about me. I'm sure I'll be fine," Sean said in a cute, cheerful voice. Everything about the scene was rather cheerful, in fact, and Dantalion felt himself finally, truly relax. He leaned against a wall and closed his eyes. He was certainly close now. They'd have William back soon.

"…alion?"

"Dantalion?"

His eyes flitted open.

Sitri stared at him, his expression rather cross. From behind him, Sean eyed him curiously, his mouth open in a perfect o.

"Did you really just fall asleep standing up, Dantalion?" Sitri had changed back into his Stratford uniform.

Dantalion didn't give an answer. Instead, he gave him a smirk while loosening the rope that held his robe together.

"D-don't change right here!" Sitri turned away and stalked off, his head refusing to turn around.

It took Dantalion some time to realize that Sean had chosen to dress them up as characters from Romeo and Juliet. But why the friar, Dantalion wondered. Why not Romeo? Still, he was rather glad for the role. At least the friar had a happy ending.

* * *

Michael was used to being lonely. He even enjoyed it most of the time. Silence didn't disappoint him. Stillness wouldn't betray him. So it came as surprise to him that he now spent his free moments training the human with Solomon's soul. His magic had improved tremendously since ascending, and Michael believed that not even he himself could hope to come close to the boy's talents, at least, not in the state he was in now.

"That'll be all for today," Michael said and the boy nodded. The training ground lay in embers, smoldering and hissing out smoke.

With a swipe of his arm, the field returned to its original, pristine state

William bowed before returning to his dwellings.

And once again Michael was alone.

Or rather, he wanted to believe that he was.

"That human isn't very subtle with his gifts," he said, not bothering to turn around.

A deep voice answered. "Brother only asked that I watch over you. Your sudden designation of an heir may have startled some of the archangels." The giant, for that was what he was, emerged from the shadow of a pillar. It was a wonder Michael hadn't noticed him before.

"I can fend for myself, Sandalphon." His words were clipped.

"Then please pay me no mind."

Michael sighed. "Very well. Just don't get in my way with that enormous body of yours." He returned to his ministrations, but not before Sandalphon noticed the tips of his wings were practically see through in the broad, sunny daylight.

* * *

The day, despite its short length, seemed to move slowly. The students of Stratford scuttled along the walkways, eager to avoid the cold. Dantalion observed all these comings and goings with indifference. It all seemed colorless now, as wan as the winter sky. He questioned how he had ever liked the school with its bland food and boring humans in the first place.

"So we're ready then," Dantalion asked as he tore himself away from the window. There was an unsteadiness in his voice. He did not know where it came from.

Camio answered him with silence.

"I mean, we have disguises. We have a way to get there. That's all, isn't it?"

"I still think you should give it a bit more thought," Camio said, "but time isn't on our side."

"Even if it was, you wouldn't stop me, would you?"

Camio shook his head. "We are rivals first and foremost. The less I say, the more I preserve my chances."

Dantalion leered. "I wish William would've aimed for that mouth of yours."

Camio merely grinned. But it was the sort of grin with no humor; it told him to pursue the topic no further.

"Do you really think we'll be able to get William back?" He asked more earnestly.

"No," Camio answered simply. "When I think about all the disadvantages you have, about Heaven's countless numbers and infinite might, the answer is no. I don't think you can get him back." His eyes shined with a peculiar light. "Was that the sort of answer you were hoping for when you asked that question?"

"What are you on about?"

"What good can come of asking such a question? It serves no purpose but to cause doubt and you know better than to doubt yourself, Dantalion."

Dantalion gulped. For a brief, tenuous moment, he saw Camio as William saw him: the perfect head boy that everyone aspired to be. Unassuming in his confidence. Wise beyond his years.

But it did not last. A door opened and Raguel emerged. His browned feathers were almost gone, in fact, his wings seemed much thinner than before.

"Angel..." Dantalion began, but he did not continue as another angel appeared from the doorway. He stood on his guard, but then stopped himself. It had wings and looked every bit like an angel, but underneath it all...

"Sitri?"

The costume complimented the wings that now flared out from his back. But he'd lost all of the pomp from earlier. He seemed strangely uncomfortable.

"It's a harness, in case you're wondering, Nephilim," Sitri said.

But Dantalion's eyes soon followed Raguel, who had stepped to the center of the room. He held his hand in front of him and it began to glow with a gentle, golden light. Suddenly, a seam ripped in front of them, a portal to what Dantalion could only assume was Heaven. A buoyant light filled the room, yellow and happy as a spring morning.

"Beautiful..." he heard Camio whisper.

"Is this really...?" Dantalion wanted to ask, but the sheer awe of it drowned out his thoughts. He was really going. He was really going there. To Heaven.

"Come here." Raguel gestured.

Sitri joined him at the center of the room and Dantalion was quick to follow. Dantalion tried to peer into the portal but the light dazzled his eyes and he instead faced Raguel.

"There's one more thing you'll need to enter," Raguel said. With a slow but firm tap, he hit both of their foreheads.

"What was that?" Dantalion demanded. Almost at once, he could feel his powers drain. It was not unlike William's power. He lashed out at him, "you… what have you done?"

"I've sealed your powers," Raguel replied. "You are no different from a human now."

"You bastard! I knew you were planning something!" He wanted to tear him in half, but he doubted he had the strength to do so now.

Raguel regarded him with a sober expression. "The angels will have a hard time discovering your presence in this form. It is the only way you can go undetected."

"Figures. You angels are all alike. Sneaky and deceiving."

Raguel inclined his chin and his voice grew the slightest bit deeper. "You may break the seal if you like. It is up to you. But know this," a veil of shadow covered his eyes. "Demons have never set foot on Heavenly ground. Once you set that precedence, Michael will have every excuse to invade."

"So? We've defended against Heaven before."

"You misunderstand." He looked at them as he were to say something. "But never mind. It will not come to that."

Before Dantalion could think about the words, he felt a gentle push and fell backwards into the portal.

The portal closed and the golden light vanished from the room. Raguel stared at the empty space where it had been. "To think, that demons would risk their lives to save a human." His smile was dark. "Even so, I do not have much faith in them."

Camio looked at him quizzically.

"There is a reason why angels do not oppose Michael." Now it was Raguel's turn to look devious. He turned to Camio, a disconcerting smile on his lips. "Do you think we are all happy in Heaven?"

* * *

 A warm light enveloped Dantalion. He felt he was being dragged over a soft, warm bed. It was nothing like going down to Hell, a whipping of shadows both white hot and ice cold. This felt nice. He wanted to nod off to sleep but thought better of it.

The light gave way to blue, clear as crystal. Dantalion braced himself for impact as he sped through it, but it only felt like a soft push when the portal closed. He discovered that his feet were firmly planted on the ground. Yet, the light airy feeling he'd felt in the portal was still there. It wafted around him like a scent, everywhere but without form. He felt pleasant and happy and wanted it to stay that way. Perhaps William would be alright here… perhaps…

He heard a soft sniffing noise and looked down.

Sitri stood at his side. His head was titled downwards and the long tresses of his wig obscured his face.

"Don't get too distracted, Dantalion," he said in a quiet, steady voice.

"Y-you shouldn't either," he managed.

"Right. Let's find him," Sitri said. "Quickly."

They were in a garden, the hedges cut straight and clean. A fountain bubbled before them, statuettes of cherubic angels dancing in the cascading waters. It didn't seem like anyone was around.

"This way. I think." Sitri moved forward, avoiding the fountain and following the hedge. There was some trepidation in his voice, but Dantalion did not feel like calling him on it.

"So Raguel really plucked some of his feathers for you?"

"... He did."

"It's well..." Dantalion didn't know how to continue, or why he'd even brought it up in the first place. "Convincing." Even as a demon, he hadn't been able to tell the difference at first. He wondered if Sitri would have looked like that if hadn't fallen.

"It looks heavy," he observed, trying to fill up their awkward silent walk with talking.

"It's not." Sitri walked farther ahead and stopped.

Dantalion couldn't help himself. "Well, how does it feel?" He asked. He hadn't pegged himself for being so curious about how angels' wings worked, but if the chance presented itself...

Sitri stopped and looked around. A tinge of melancholy swept across his face. "It feels like a costume. It doesn't feel real."

"What do you mean-"

"Stop." Sitri said, cutting him off.

"I didn't mean to-"

"I mean _stop_ , Dantalion!"

Dantalion stopped in mid-motion. A thin bit of land separated him from an endless drop. He retreated hurriedly from the ledge.

"What is this?" He exclaimed. "Some sort of floating island?" The question went unanswered as he gazed on hundreds of islands hovering in midair across the horizon. Below him was a particularly large one. He squinted and could make out a grand city, glinting gold and white, at its center.

"That's Michael's territory," Sitri whispered, as if they were being watched.

"All right." Dantalion didn't really like the idea of going there. It was too bright to look at, even from so far away. "How do you suppose we'll get there?"

Sitri huffed. "I don't know. Our magic is sealed."

 _Damn angel_ , Dantalion wanted to mutter but stopped himself.

"This place... it must be his territory too," Sitri looked about.

"Let's see if there's some way down," he said. He started along the perimeter of the island.

"Wait, Dantalion," Sitri whispered.

The urgency in his voice was hard to ignore. Dantalion looked back at him and trailed his line of sight. Between the hedges, he spied movement. Someone seemed to be practicing with a baton of sorts.

The figure turned around and Dantalion made himself scarce by hiding behind the hedge.

"Isn't that-"

"Jeanne of Arc."

"-is that you?" They heard her call, although the name she called was indistinguishable in his panic. There was a _klank_ , what could have only been her baton as she set it aside. "My answer is still the same, you know." Her voice was moving closer.

"We have to jump, Dantalion!" Sitri hissed.

Dantalion looked over the edge. The island below seemed to mock him in its splendor and distance.

"It's too far. We won't make it."

"She'll recognize us!" Sitri breathed fiercely as he crawled to the ledge.

"I-"

"Although, if you must know, I do not regret being a commoner." She'd see them in another second. "It brought me closer to _him_."

"Jump!"

Dantalion darted to the edge. Solid ground gave way to air and a world of endless blue and white.


	6. Chapter 6

Most of the time, William was left on his own.

"That'll be all for today," Michael said and he nodded. He'd decimated the field, but his fingertips were still overflowing with raw power.

He marveled as Michael moved his arm, as elegant a movement as a dancer's. Suddenly, the field was back to the way it always had been, pristine and beautiful. He'd wondered if he could be as precise, as decisive in his movements.

William bowed before returning to his room. He did not feel tired despite the exhaustive training. There was no need for sleep, at least not the periodic sleep that he'd had to put up when he was human. He no longer felt especially tired or weary at the end of the day. The thought of no sleep delighted him, so much so that he thought he could devote entire months to studying magic on end.

Only, the motivation was no longer there.

The zeal he'd brought to his studies was gone now. He could not quite understand it, but too much passion felt dangerous somehow. Passion felt too human. He regarded his surroundings with an impassive calm, a calm born of certainty and inevitability.

If he tried to remember his human life, although there was not much worth remembering, he could recall the patchy cloudiness of not knowing. Mortality had made everything seem more vivid, as if the colors were truly brighter. Now he'd become immune to it. There was a surety in the routine.

He paced around the room. It was filled with the finest books he'd ever seen, although he didn't feel like reading any to them. _I should be happy_ , he thought to himself, but he could feel nothing beyond the power that vibrated at his fingertips.

* * *

Uriel expected his residence to be in disarray when he returned. He'd spent such a long time in the human world that he was sure everything would be in disrepair. However, he found it in the opposite condition of what he supposed. Each room still looked as immaculate as the day he had left.

 _Of course_ , he muttered foolishly to himself, _this isn't the human world. Things do not suddenly grow old and succumb to rust and rot._

But what surprised him even more was who he found in the drawing room.

"Metatron?"

The angel had apparently invited himself in and was titling precariously on a chair, his foot kicked up on a table.

"Hello." He waved, flicking his hand above his head, as if he were an old friend who no longer needed to ask how his day was going.

"What are you doing here?" Uriel demanded.

"Oh," Metatron said, playing with a teacup he had found, "just seeing if you'll betray Michael now." He grinned.

"You—" Uriel gritted is teeth. "Just what do you want from me?" He felt like he was repeating himself.

"Nothing really." Metatron looped the cup's handle around his pinky and started to spin it around. "I was just curious if you'd started stocking up your arsenal yet. Jeanne is pretty strong." His tone could have easily been mistaken for one talking about the weather. No. He seemed even more interested in meteorological events than the subject at hand. "I just thought I'd make sure you were prepared, is all."

"It certainly sounds suspicious that you'd be concerned about _my_ well-being," Uriel maintained his steady voice.

Metatron cleared his throat. "Well, wasn't it _you_ who wanted William Twining to become a human again? I'm only asking because I thought you'd better get started." His head titled as he played with the teacup and, for a second, Uriel thought he saw Metatron's true face: a distant and cold face that planned every move.

"I'll tell you a secret then, Uriel. Perhaps it might persuade you." His eyes glowed a shade of red as he spoke, as eery as Michael's. "It wasn't Michael who imparted ecstasy on William Twining. It was me."

Uriel stood still.

Metatron rose up from the chair and flipped the teacup precariously close to the table's edge. His grin had returned.

"Oh yes, before I forget. It seems your friend Raguel is colluding with demons in the human world. He may be a hostage, but you'd better act soon before Michael realizes that there are demons roaming around in _his_ Heaven."

The teacup cracked into dozens of pieces but Metatron gave no indication of having heard it as he let himself out.

* * *

For a moment, Dantalion was weightless. He did not scream. His eyes pinched shut as the sound of wind whistled through his ears. Then there was a silence, a strange and unsettling nothingness where he could feel every nerve of his body tensing. It lasted less than a second but he felt like he had disappeared, had reached the end of _himself_.

But sensation came whirling back in another instant. He felt water rushing over him and a different kind of weightlessness, one of plunging into an endless void. He aggressively clawed at the water and pushed himself up to break the surface. There he floated, trying to catch his breath and still his nerves. He'd landed in a lake, he realized. Hastily, he swam to the shore. Five minutes went by before he could felt like speaking again.

"That was lucky…" he said. Water dripped from his hair.

Sitri, meanwhile, was wringing out his costume. The wings he wore had lost a bunch of feathers from the fall but Dantalion hoped it would still be a passable disguise. Far off in the distance, Dantalion could make out the city he'd seen from above. He skewed his eyes, trying to make out details, but it was simply a sparkling blur. Whatever Raguel had done to him was the closest thing he'd felt to being human. He did not _hate_ it, but the powerlessness was hard to get used to.

"I take it that's our next destination."

Sitri didn't need to answer. His eyes were fixed ahead.

Dantalion breathed in the cool air. His clothes were still sopping wet but strangely he couldn't say he minded. The light, airy feeling he'd felt in the garden came back with full force. Some tiny, insignificant part of him wouldn't have minded if he stayed the way he was, basking on the bank, sipping in the clean air. "… This really is a beautiful place. Shame we won't be staying long," he said wistfully. A grin crept on his face, a snide and crafty one that might have intimidated the residents of Hell. Here, however, it could only be mistaken for peaceful.

* * *

 Sitri peeked around the corner.

This area of Heaven was heavily populated and somewhat resembled some of the more antiquated human cities. The streets were paved with gold and wonderfully decorated buildings stood on either side, the facades of which glistened white in the light with balustrades of silver. Michael's influence was strong here.

"Tread lightly," he whispered to Dantalion. Angels bustled down the boulevard, their feet not making a sound.

He led the way, keeping his head down and cutting into the crowd. Angels brushed up against him on all sides and they did not seem to notice as their feathers lightly tickled his arms and face. He looked back at Dantalion, thankful that he wore a hood, as his expression revealed a discomfort that might have given him away in an instant.

Sitri hid a vengeful smile as he looked ahead. In the center of the boulevard stood a church. Perhaps church was too simplistic of a term to apply to the huge and dazzling building. Three towers with spiraling staircases shot up from it, each with the arched roof of a gazebo. All of the columns were delicately sculptured with saints. Sitri was sure he recognized Jeanne's relief among the columns, empty marble eyes as true to life as the original. He hoped they hadn't made one for William yet.

"This way," he whispered to Dantalion.

Two curving staircases led up the entrance. He walked up the stairs slowly, sure if he touched the pristine crystal railing he would darken it somehow. Dantalion had been silent the whole time, and Sitri considered thanking him for it, for a split second, until he heard a skidding sound and the resulting fall, _and_ the resulting obscenities.

He flung around. "Shh!" He grit his teeth. "None of that here!"

Dantalion looked up at him, his chin resting on the lip of a stair. "It's not my fault these steps are so slippery! What do they do? Wax these things with oil?"

Sitri continued to ascend the staircase. Let that stupid idiot get caught by the angels, he thought. Something he hadn't thought about was what the angels would do if they _did_ catch them. Surely it would be a very good reason to launch a war against Hell, but what about _them_? He doubted very much that there were any torture chambers in Heaven like there were in Hell, but perhaps what the angels could do was much, _much_ worse, like what they had done to William.

When they finally made it to the entrance, they found two sentinels guarding the gigantic doors.

"State your name and business," one said brusquely.

Since when did Michael need guards?

"I wish to meet with His Highness," Sitri said.

"Who are you?"

"You don't recognize me?"

They both looked at each other and then back to him.

"I am Raphael's daughter."

"Lord Raphael has children?" One looked at the other, clueless.

"Of course," Sitri said, tossing his hair in an effeminately flamboyant way. "Now if you would _please_ let me in."

"Sure, you can come in. But who's he?" The guard asked, pointing to Dantalion.

Sitri rolled his eyes. "Father won't let me go anywhere without an escort. It's really quite annoying, actually. Now, are you going to let us in, or do I have to stand out here all day?"

"R-right this way, my lady." They bowed.

"Is everyone in Heaven that gullible?" asked Dantalion when they were a reasonable distance away.

"Yes, they're all clueless saps who have no idea what they're doing in a place like this," he said, snappishly.

Really, Dantalion needed to learn how to be quiet. They were just about as far into enemy territory as they could go, and Dantalion just had to comment on the state of its residents. Sitri walked hurriedly throughout the hall, looking as if he had quite enough of the friar.

The hall, meanwhile, was impressive. Shelves and shelves of books, all the history of men and angels, lined the walls with a gigantic globe as the centerpiece. Sitri realized, as he came up to it, that all the continents and countries were cut from precious stones, each more stunning than the next. Michael was indeed very affluent and he flouted that affluence any way he could. This was not the world the meek would inherit.

They came to the end of the hall, where a dozen staircases stood, some going to corridors on the right and left and some climbing toward the ceiling and beyond.

"Now what?" Dantalion folded his arms.

* * *

Camio flexed his shoulder, wincing at the burns. He entertained thoughts of having Maria comfort him, but he didn't want to see the worry in her eyes when he revealed the half dozen pockmarks that littered his body. They'd started to scab, but with magic there was no way of knowing how long they'd take to heal. He hoped soon. 

The smell of tea brought him back to the present.

Raguel had taken the liberty of using one of the ceramic teapots in his room to brew something with a light and airy scent.

"You've certainly made the most out of your captivity," he commented. He couldn't say he liked angels—no that wasn't it. Demons, even the aggressive ones, were no problem for him. But angels did not need to be aggressive to give Camio reason to worry. 

"Nothing will come of us both sitting around silently," Raguel replied. The pair of tea cups clinked and the angel offered him one. The small, handleless cup steamed in his hand. He reached out to take it when Raguel dropped it, tea splashing all over the floor, his eyes wide with panic.

Camio was about to demand an explanation when he heard a voice close to his ear.

"Heard you'ere in a fight."

He turned around swiftly. "John!"

The demon flashed a grin and plopped down on the sofa beside him. If he'd seen Raguel, he ignored the angel, asking about the fight until Camio was all but bribed to take off his shirt and show him the extent of the damage. Raguel disappeared into the other room sometime between the explanation. 

"Jeez, I thought that bat was lying," John whistled, eyeing the nebula of bruises and scars. "And that was all from that William kid?" Camio nodded. John cupped his chin like he couldn't quite believe the story but had no choice in the matter. "What else has happened?"

He was about to explain Dantalion's and Sitri's little trip when he eyed Raguel, who now came into the room bearing a platter of three cups and other assorted pastries.

John folded his arms. "So you're the angel who went up against the three substitute kings, huh?"

"My name is Raguel. It's a pleasure to meet you, John Dee." He placed the cups on the table this time, and did not wait for the others to pick up theirs. "Yes, John Dee," he took a sip. "The man who was given a free ticket to Heaven and refused it. I know who you are." His eyes scowled.

"No need to bring up my past like that," John closed his eyes and pretended to be offended. "We've only just met." He picked up the small cup and leaned back, kicking his shoes up on the table. There was something about John's uncouth mannerisms that gave Camio a sigh of relief. He no longer felt like he was stalemated by the angel. He buttoned up his shirt and brought the cup to his lips. Hopefully, it wasn't poison.

"But you were saying?" John turned to him; the good humor hadn't left his eyes after all. 

"John," he whispered. "You mustn't breathe a word of what I'm about to tell you to anyone else."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Camio recounted the story, starting from the beginning. By the time he reached the golden portal, his tea had cooled.

"Dantalion, Sitri, they've gone to Heaven?" John blinked in disbelief.

"Do you suppose I should have stopped them?" Camio asked. Despite his cool demeanor, their departure had been steadily weighing on his mind. The angels would be out for blood if they were found out.

"Mmmm, it's a tough call." John's brow knitted. "On one hand, William's already a threat to the demon world even without being an angel. On the other, even if they did manage to get him back, we'd have a war on our hands. Either way you look at it, we're screwed." He spread his arms on the sofa's top and stared at the ceiling. "Still, I can see why they wouldn't want anybody to know."

"Why's that?" Camio asked.

"Well, just think about it. William can control some of the most powerful demons in Hell. " John thrummed his fingers. "Say Dantalion and Sitri went to Baalberith or Astaroth for help. Given their resources, it wouldn't take very long to bring William back. But by the end of it, they'd probably demand the boy's head." John squinted at the ceiling, going through the scenario in his mind. "He's too dangerous, even ol' Astaroth would probably be convinced of it. Even if she's his ancestor or whatever, she'd never want Heaven to have that kind of advantage. I bet most of Hell's kings would agree."

Camio bowed his head. The pain from William's magic still throbbed in places. Even if they managed to get William back undetected, even if they were able to make him human again, things couldn't go back to the way they were.

* * *

The wending staircase felt like it went on for eternity. Dantalion's feet grew heavy, and he bit his lip at the unending monotony. It seemed each step took him up and farther away from the ground floor, but wherever he turned he only found shelf upon shelf of books and the occasional elegant statue.

"Just where are we going? Do you even have a clue?"

Sitri turned back, his face pointed in an annoyed expression. "Don't you have any patience? I'd expect as much from a human, but not from you." _You_ are _a Nephilim after all,_ he thought he heard Sitri mumble, but Dantalion just ignored it.

"Why does this place have to be so big? Why do these stairs have to go on forever?" he asked. His eyes shifted upwards. A strong light emanated from the top and he could not see where the staircase ended. "How do angels ever get where they need to go?"

"They have wings, of course." Sitri had already turned back by now and continued his climb. "These stairs are only for the saints that don't have their wings yet."

"Ah," Dantalion said, "so it's more like a status thing. In Hell, you have to kill horde upon horde of demons until you're anybody. In Heaven, you have to climb a bunch of stairs."

Sitri _tch_ ed under his breath. "It's not that simple, but that's probably the easiest way of understanding it, especially for someone like _you_ ," he turned back snidely.

Suddenly, they heard a shout, echoing from below.

"I think they're on to us," Dantalion said, picking up his feet. Sitri did the same, and they raced up the staircase. It was all for naught, however, as an angel came rushing upwards, its wings propelling it toward them.

"This is His Holiness' private area. You do not have permission to be here." A helmet covered the angel's face, but Dantalion could tell there was no point in trying to explain themselves.

"Oh? Didn't buy that bit about Raphael's daughter?" He crossed his arms, trying to look tough in his friar costume. "And just what is the punishment for trespassing?"

The angel thrusted an ivory white spear at him. "Do not make me repeat myself." Its voice dripped with venom.

Dantalion didn't need another warning. He stepped back, grabbing a spear from a nearby statue, and practically sighing in relief upon discovering that it wasn't a useless decoration.

"Bring it, angel," he grinned, handling the spear with an unexpected ease.

The angel's chin quivered. "Don't tell me, you're—"

He didn't get to finish, however. Dantalion jumped, pointing his spear at the angel's center. The angel flew back as Dantalion landed. His foot hit the steps unevenly and tiptoed on the ledge.

"That was your last move, _demon_." The angel pointed its spear forward with every intention of piercing it into him. Dantalion braced himself, but he knew it was too late. There was nowhere to run on the narrow steps and nothing he could do about the angel's speed. He closed his eyes, wishing he had at least gotten to see William one last time.

The odd sound of a _thonk_ invaded his ears and he felt the angel's spear graze his arm. In a second, his eyes were opened again. The angel's helmet was askew and it was desperately fumbling to adjust it. Meanwhile, another blurred object flew out of the corner of Dantalion's eye.

Above him, Sitri had taken the liberty of throwing books at the angel. He hurled another one, catching the angel in the face. The angel dropped his spear, holding his face and trying to lift off his helmet. Dantalion seized the opportunity as soon as the angel's spear hit the ground. In a moment, he had the angel in a chokehold, the angel's own weapon now the object of its demise.

Sitri had to look away at that point. Although something like that in Hell wouldn't have normally fazed him, he couldn't bear to look now. He couldn't really explain why either. He felt no sympathy for the angel and was glad that he and Dantalion hadn't been impaled by its spear. He knew that Dantalion was prepared to kill to get William back and that shouldn't have surprised him. But it _did_. Even when Dantalion came up beside him he refused to look back. "We should find the end of these stairs as soon as possible. If more come, we might not be as lucky."

Dantalion nodded wordlessly, squeezing his arm. A small _fsst_ sound escaped from his lips as the rough fabric rubbed against the cut. He dealt with it grudgingly as they made their way upwards.

At long last, they came to the end of the steps. Dantalion looked swiftly around the landing before making for a corridor. After they were some ways away from the stairs, he allowed himself to catch his breath and examine his wound. He rolled the sleeve back, now damp with blood. The gash along his arm was not the small abrasion he'd been expecting. The flesh was torn nearly to the bone and the blood from it had left messy trails down his arm.

"Hold still," Sitri said.

Dantalion waited, unaware of why his actions suddenly contradicted his words. Weren't they trying to find a safe place? The corridor was hardly better than the stairs, full of light and seemingly endless. "Shouldn't we keep going?" 

Sitri ripped off a piece of his dress, replacing Dantalion's previous question with another.  "Just what—" he began, fearing that more guards would come at the sound of the noise.

None did. Sitri wrapped the torn fabric around the cut on his arm, tying the ends together with a firm grip.

"Errgh—Not too tight," he winced. If he had his powers, the cut would have disappeared without him having to put too much thought into it. But in his powerlessness, even the healing process hurt.

Once the pressure was where he wanted it to be, Dantalion let out a sigh. Sitri let go and he shrugged his sleeve over his arm once again.

"I—umm…," he breathed, the words difficult summon. "Thank you."

Sitri only stared at him, as if he were trying to figure him out and failing at it. "I… don't like you, Dantalion."

"You—what?"

"I never have." He bowed his head. "You're a brute. You never use your head and you have no idea how much I've disliked you for it."

"What's wrong with you all of a sudden?"

"I could never stand it." He slammed his foot on the floor. "Do you know how jealous of you I've been?"

"What? Jealous?"

Sitri wrapped his arms around one another as if he were shaking. "You're strong. Even without your powers, you killed that angel. And yet you don't even have to think about something like that, do you? It's scary."

"Just what are you trying to say?" Now he was intrigued. It was not every day he heard compliments, or rather compliments thinly disguised as insults, from that pouty little mouth of his rival's.

"You're a freak, Dantalion, and it's chilling to know that people like you exist."

The words came out louder than the both of them expected, echoing down the hall in a way that might have sent Dantalion off into another direction. But he just stood there. His arm throbbed where the cloth was tied around it. He didn't have an answer for Sitri and didn't think one would come along soon.

"Let's go." He turned. "Talking and waiting around like this isn't going to get us anywhere." He didn't wait for Sitri to respond. He started walking, looking for places in the corridor where he could make himself scarce if he needed to be. He didn't dwell on what Sitri had said. When the time came they'd talk about it again.

After a while, he heard another set of footsteps coming up behind him.

"Dantalion, I—" The slightest peep made Dantalion flush against the wall, his hand over Sitri's mouth.

"I was going to—" Sitri held his wrist, his breath warm against his palm.

"Shh," Dantalion shushed him. He could hear voices coming from the far end of the hall. A soft, murmuring eased into a slightly louder, snide voice.

"We need to find a place to hide," Dantalion whispered.

Sitri nodded, his eyes keenly searching for a door.

Dantalion eyed one about ten feet from where they stood, but there was no guessing what was behind it. If there were more angels there, they'd almost certainly die.

Before Dantalion knew it, his hand was on the crystal doorknob. He turned it and breathed a sigh of relief when it revealed an empty room. Quickly, he and Sitri disappeared inside.

Footsteps could be heard through the walls. Before long, they heard voices.

"A guard? Killed?"

"Yes, Master Michael." At the name, Dantalion froze. He was close, this close, to the one who orchestrated William's disappearance. He wanted to fling out of the room and eradicate the angel once and for all. But he held himself still. Michael could be saved for another day. He needed to rescue William first. "No one knows what happened. The cause is being investigated."

"To think, they've started now." The response was far from the hysterics he'd been expecting. It sounded subdued. Cold.

"Started?"

"Now that I've named an heir, the battle for succession has begun."

"Are you not worried, Your Holiness?"

The footsteps came to a stop.

"Worried?" There was a long pause and Dantalion tried not to breath. "No, I'm not worried. My heir is perfectly capable of defending himself."

"But what about you, Master Michael? Your safety could be in danger as well."

There was sound like a crow giving off a dry, raspy caw. "It's always been that way. This time is no different. And so it will continue. Into eternity." Bitterness.

The footsteps started up again. When at last Dantalion couldn't hear them anymore, he relaxed, looking over at Sitri. "So that's it, huh?" He asked. 

"What do you mean?" 

"Why Michael took William in the first place. He wanted him to be his heir."

"Yeah, I got that."

"And if William does take control, not even Hell will be safe. The 72 demons under his control, even his Majesty will…" He stopped himself. He didn't want to imagine that kind of world.

Dantalion opened the door slowly, soundlessly. He moved, each footstep a combination of steadiness and timing.

"Where are you going? That's the direction that Michael was going," Sitri whispered from behind.

"Exactly," he whispered back, "it's our best bet at finding William. Michael wouldn't leave him alone if he thinks an assassin is out to get him."

"It didn't sound like he was worried…" But Sitri tip-toed alongside him.

They came to the end of the corridor faster than they expected. A large window and another corridor met them at the far end. Now that Dantalion looked closely, it wasn't actually a window at, just an empty space in the wall with railing that overlooked the peerless blue sky. He was cautious not to get too close; it seemed too easy to fall through.

"Which way now?"

"Over here." Dantalion answered and strode off to the left. He tried to listen for voices, but the whole place was eerily quiet. Not even the sound of wind could be heard from the open window.

"Dantalion, what I said back there—it was out of line." Sitri's voice was small and quiet.

"No… It was—you were just surprised." He swallowed hard. First, he was walking the halls of Heaven and now an apology from Sitri?  What other apocalyptic things would happen?

"Still…" It seemed like he would say something more, but he gasped, turning his head around. It was at that moment that Dantalion heard voices and the light clinking of metal. He looked for an exit, but the long narrow corridor only offered the opened windows and a blank, featureless wall.

Before Dantalion could turn around they were surrounded, angels crowding around them and pointing the tips of their spears. There were five of them altogether, but there might as well have been a hundred from the way their wings flared out, making them appear larger than they were.

"Intruders!" The first shouted.

"You are trespassing on sacred ground," the second announced.

"The punishment is death," another one said gravely.

Dantalion could feel his back digging into the wall. They were way too close. He tried to move his arms, but their spears immediately pointed toward his palms.

"Angels…" He muttered under his breath. They closed in, oddly scentless. Dantalion retreated farther into the wall, the bones in his elbows protesting as they were jammed against the hard surface.

"In the name of our master, we purge evil from this land," they said in eery unison. Dantalion was not going to wait another second for them to continue the chant. He pushed off the wall, landing a kick on the first one as hard as he could. Then he whirled around, socking another one in the jaw, a satisfying crack telling him the job was done. The remaining two were on him in another second, trying to restrain him. He jabbed his elbow into one's chest as he grappled with another.

"Dantalion!" From the corner of his eye he could tell Sitri was faring no better. One had caught him in a punishing grip and another held a spearpoint to his throat. 

Dantalion turned around and tried to shove the angel against the wall. The angel pushed back. The game couldn't last, however. Something hard hit him from the side and he landed on the floor, the crash reverberating in his bones. He looked up at the angel, faceless with its helmet. He inhaled sharply as it raised its spear.

_William, wait for me!_


	7. Chapter 7

There are different evils in Heaven and Hell. Some are the obvious evils, desecration and flames and endless wrath. Some are the subtle evils of cunning and loose-lipped grins. Some are glorified and become something they're not, the evils of revenge and jealously. And then there is the most common one.

The one that is disguised as love.

"Dantalion!" Sitri screamed. He watched as Dantalion fell to the ground, helpless before the angels. If only they could use their powers, then the angels would be running instead of surrounding them. No, he wanted to grin bitterly, they'd only run because of Dantalion. The spearpoint drew menacingly close to his neck. He tried to lean back, but he was only met with the other angel's plated chest.

The angel's grip grew tighter. Sitri held his breath as he waited for the spear to cut his throat. He closed his eyes, not sure if he'd be killed instantly or made to suffer. The angel grabbed his arm and suddenly he was pushed away. He watched as the angel who had held him struck the angel with the spear.

Sitri tried to recover his balance, but even as he did so, his eyes could not quite comprehend the scene before him. The angel now struck Dantalion's attackers, knocking them to the floor with punishing blows.

Impossible, Sitri wanted to say, but nothing escaped his lips then. Not even as he witnessed the angel try to help Dantalion up. He refused, of course, muttering something about angels and their fickleness.

Sitri was the first to ask. "Who are you?"

The angel turned in his direction. Although he wore a masked helmet, his voice was practically smiling, "an enemy. A friend. Likely both."

"I've got no time for riddles. Tell us who you are," Dantalion growled. His face was one of an animal's that had paced its cage for too long.

"Ah, easy there," the angel held up his hands to show his innocence. "I didn't mean to upset you. Even if angels and demons are supposed to be mortal enemies, I've come to help you. Just a tiny bit."

"Help us?"

"Yep. You want William Twining back and I want him gone. We have the same purpose, see?"

Sitri was not quite sure what the angel saw. He scrunched his face to show his reluctance. "Why would you help us?"

"I suppose that's a fair question." The angel cupped his chin. "I'm part of the plot to overthrow Michael of course."

"Overthrow Michael!?" They gasped in unison.

"Shh! Not so loud!" The angel gestured with his hands. "They can't know about that yet."

Sitri crossed his arms. The angel's story only became more ridiculous the more he talked. He was sure Dantalion wasn't convinced either. His posture had become rigid and his eyes were cold and overbearing. "Then let's cut to the chase," he said. "You want something. What is it?"

The angel feigned confusion, scratching his helmeted head. "Wha—?"

"Don't play dumb. You saved us because you wanted something. What is it?"

Even Sitri had to shiver under Dantalion's leering, red eyes. They pierced the soul, those kinds of eyes.

"Well, if it's that way then…" The angel paused for a moment, titling his head downward. It seemed like an eternity before he looked up again. "Make William Twining human again." His voice was softer, even from inside the helmet.

"And how would that benefit you?" Dantalion shot back.

"It wouldn't." The angel looked up. "But it _would_ weaken Michael."

At this, Dantalion grinned, something even more terrifying than his glares. "Angels truly are deceitful creatures. They masquerade themselves as holy do-gooders, but they're no better than demons."

The angel didn't seem to mind the insult and Sitri guessed that he might be grinning from beneath his helmet.

"Then allow me to show you how deceitful we are," the angel faked a bow.

They followed him. What choice they had was now resting on the floor with the angels their guide had knocked out. Sitri stared at the angel's back, big, full wings that any demon would be envious of. The angel's armor reflected the sky, an endless churning of blue, like a pond just after the rain. For some reason, the way the angel moved, walked, laughed felt familiar to Sitri. But he couldn't pinpoint what exactly that meant. Each time he thought he grasped onto it, it flitted away, that intangible, familiar something.

It seemed that they would walk in peace, but Dantalion opened his mouth again. "And just why don't you take that helmet off? Afraid we'll tell Michael on you?"

"That would ruin everything, wouldn't it?" The angel didn't seem the least bit concerned. "But there are other reasons."

"What kind of reasons?"

The angel turned, as if he were staring Dantalion down. "Unfortunately, I don't think you would understand, Dantalion."

"You better watch it angel. I took out three of those guys practically by myself. You shouldn't be a problem."

Then the angel's head turned ever so slightly to Sitri. Sitri felt a chill run over him, but he wasn't sure why. "What do you think, Sitri?"

"How do you know our names?" Sitri asked as the cold feeling crept up his skin

"What game are you playing?" Dantalion said under his breath.

The angel wasted no time in answering. "The names of the substitute kings are well-known in Heaven, especially after Michael's defeat in Paris."

"Then I have another question," Sitri spoke up before Dantalion could offer another ill-timed comment. "What is your true goal? Do you want to rule Heaven in his place?"

The angel looked out one of the windows for a moment, as if he were truly contemplating it. "No, nothing like that. I'm just trying to help a friend."

"I swear, it's nothing but riddles with this guy. Let's—" Dantalion would have been on top of the angel in another second, but Sitri held his arm out to stop him.

"We should trust him, Dantalion."

Dantalion growled, but this time he did not fight back. Sitri found it surprising, actually, that he said nothing as they continued down the hall, the angel leading the way. But the moment he glanced at the demon all his questions were answered: Dantalion was tired. Blood was soaking his sleeve again and running down his arm, and he was so tired that he hadn't even noticed.

"Hold on," Sitri said to the both of them. He ripped another piece of fabric from the dress. Dantalion silently accepted it this time. He rolled up his sleeve and offered his arm to him.

He heard the angel say something then. "What was that?" He asked when he'd finished helping Dantalion.

"Oh, it was nothing."

"You're kind," Dantalion said.

"What?"

"It's what he said, not me," Dantalion pointed to the angel with the hand of his uninjured arm.

Sitri wasted no time over it. The angel seemed to know where they were going and Sitri did not want to voice his concerns to Dantalion. As they wove around the hall, Sitri wished he could find something familiar. Something that he remembered from his childhood. But besides the overwhelming feeling of light, he recognized nothing. The statues and decorations were incredibly detailed and elaborate, but he'd seen the same sort in Hell time and time again. He'd almost come to expect that sort of beauty, which was why he preferred the human world now. It was plain and mostly boring, but there was a beauty to it that seemed to resonate, that seemed to make it live.

Compared to the human world, this place was dead and silent, as if, for the whole time, they had been walking in a tomb.

"Just what do you want?" He couldn't resist questioning the angel. There was a tone to the angel's voice that he remembered, or he thought he remembered. Perhaps he had known him once. If he asked enough questions, he was sure he could figure it out.

The angel paused. Without turning around, he answered, "… I just want to liven this place up a bit."

No. This voice was too new, too excited. Sitri frowned. It sounded just like the younger students at Stratford.

* * *

 _Angel of healing?_ The thought ran through Michael's head incessantly whenever he was in the company of Raphael. He'd wanted to say something about it to Raphael when he first heard it, but that was ages ago and the temptation had subdued itself into nothing but a little voice at the back of his mind. If anything, Raphael was the angel of idiosyncrasies.

"Your guards asked me the silliest question, you know?" Raphael beamed from across the table.

"Hm?" Michael played idly with some silverware. The table was set for a light tea time, but so far neither of them had touched their drinks.

"They asked me if I had any children."

"Really now? How odd."

"Isn't it?" Raphael leaned against the table. "But do you think it's possible Michael? Do you think I _could_ have children?"

 _You're practically one yourself_ , he wanted to say. "It's certainly happened before, however rare it is for us to reproduce." He tried to picture it in his head, but the thought was all too unsettling. "Of course, you'd have to meet a female angel who shares your ideals."

"Oh?" Raphael's eyes grew wide. "Is that how it works?"

Michael shook slightly. "You can't be that naïve, can you?"

Raphael grinned. "No, no. It was just a joke."

"Of course it was."

"That reminds me," Raphael clapped his hands together. "I hear Solomon's vessel is here in Heaven with us."

"It's more than a rumor, but you probably already knew that."

"Ah, what joyful news!" Raphael practically burst. "The vessel of Solomon with us in Heaven! Truly, love conquers all!"

"Love?" Michael gaped.

"Yes! Love was what brought Solomon's soul here to Heaven. William Twining has let God into his heart and can begin to accept Heaven's blessings!"

"Honestly, sometimes I don't follow you," Michael mumbled, resting his face against his palm. His hand felt warm against his cheek as he deflated into it like a cheap pastry.

"You seem tired Michael," Raphael said. There was something commanding in his voice that always caught Michael off guard. Sometimes he forgot Rapahel was an archangel. But not for long. Raphael stared at him with those shining, brilliant eyes.

A silence erupted between them, pipping hot and bone cold.

"What?" Michael huffed. "Not going to bemuse me with your talk of love?"

Raphael's eyes shined, a fierce, unemotional look that was hard to look at and hard to imitate but perfectly understandable.

"It's like that time you went to the human world without telling me. You look like that—like you were just in a fight you couldn't win."

Michael _pfft_ ed, blowing his hair away from his face. "I was in a human's body that time. If not for that—"

" _If_ not for that you would have been dead." Raphael finished for him, harshly, with that melodious voice of his.

Michael's body shot up, as if it were on fire. "Like you could have done any better!" He was almost screaming. "Who was it that led the angels during our darkest time? If not for me, my brother would have taken all of us down with him! Who was it that vanquished evil from this land? It wasn't you or Uriel! It was me!"

His voice clanged, echoing briefly and vibrating in his ears.

Raphael sat calmly, his posture poised, his eyes resolute. "No, it wasn't me. Although we all fought bravely. We continue to fight bravely." He looked up. "And none have fought as bravely as you, Holy Michael." His face held a melancholy that seemed to subdue its brilliance. "But right now you are fighting a battle you cannot win."

Michael opened his mouth, but Raphael's words cut hard against his initial gasp. "This battle is not against the demons or your brother or even the other angels. You are fighting a battle against time. Even now I can see you fading. Just how long do you think you'll last like that?" Raphael looked away and held a hand to his chest. For a moment, the light flickered around him and seemed to dissipate. "But perhaps you won't tell me that either," Raphael said to himself.

His lips closed together. It was the first time Raphael had ever spoken to him in such a tone. His voice had not changed in intensity or volume, but there was a hopelessness in it that he did not recognize. A despair.

The light trickled back. Raphael rose and pushed in his chair quietly.

Michael did not ask him to stay.

The door clicked as Raphael let himself out. Then the regal silence greeted Michael's ears, pure and untainted in his perfect Heaven.

* * *

They rounded a corner and stopped in front of a pair of gilded doors.

"I'm pretty sure this is where Michael keeps him," the angel said to them.

"Wait," Dantalion said breathlessly. "You mean… William?"

The angel turned. "Of course, who else did you think I was taking you to?"

"I just…" Dantalion wanted to say something smart, but he felt like it would only come out as some sort of jumbled nonsense that no one could understand; he was relieved—he'd finally have William back.

"He's strong, you know. You sure you two are ready?" the angel asked. It came out so casually that Dantalion almost mistook it for an insult.

"What are you—" he started. Suddenly, images of stars falling from the sky and smiting Camio flooded his mind. William wasn't only strong, he was frightening. "We'll manage…" he muttered.

The angel cocked his head. "You sure?"

"It's not like we have any choice," Sitri said for him. There was an impatient desperation to his voice.

"All right," the angel said,  "and say you do subdue him somehow. What will you do then?"

Dantalion glared at him. "What do you mean?"

"Well, do you know how to get out of here?" The angel asked.

So far, Dantalion had been so focused on getting William, he hadn't even thought of getting back.

"Hmm. I thought so." The angel turned on his heel and started to walk away.

"Are you just going to leave?" Dantalion called after him. "Is that it?"

"Yep, I have a job to do," the angel said, a childish playfulness resounded in his voice. "Best of luck!" He waved at them. There was a haze of feathers and he was gone.

Dantalion and Sitri looked at each other in disbelief, not sure if the last few minutes had happened or not. Yet, all that disappeared when they faced the door before them. "Do you think it's as he said? Is William really behind there?"

"We were foolish enough to trust him in the first place." 

Regardless, Dantalion pushed open the door.

* * *

But the silence was not to last.

"Raphael's an important ally, you know. You shouldn't be so harsh with him."

"How long have you been here?" Michael questioned, his eyes focused on the door. He didn't need to turn to see who it was.

"Oh, just now. But I've made  _you_  my top priority, so I have ways of figuring out the state of your affairs."

"It was the giant, he heard us, didn't he?"

"Sandalphon? That's his name."

"He told you, didn't he?" There was a quiet pause that Michael interpreted as a _yes_. "It's odd that I have a bodyguard who answers to someone else."

"He'd answer to you if you talked to him," Metatron replied.

"And you suppose he'll protect me from whatever killed my guard?" For some reason, Michael felt oddly detached from the situation. It wasn't the first act of sabotage in Heaven, only the most blatant. Perhaps there was some comfort in the killer's obvious nature that he'd latched on to. "Have you found the killer yet?"

"There are troops combing the hallways as we speak. I've even searched with a few myself."

"Oh?" Michael quirked his eyebrow and looked at Metatron. He was indeed wearing the guard's uniform. "Is that why you're dressed like that?"

"I have to look the part, don't I?"

"You're an archangel, not an actor. Don't disgrace yourself with such lowly duties," he practically mumbled. There was no feeling in his voice and he thought it was a perfect way to be.

Just then, there was a tapping at the door. The giant came in and swiftly bowed. "Holy Michael, you have a guest."

* * *

Dantalion soaked up the room as Sitri closed the door. He walked around it three times, carefully tip-toeing, as if expecting a trap. When he was sure there was nothing, he slammed his hand on a table.

"Empty."

Sitri looked over the books on the table, piled high and dog-eared. William had definitely been through them. "He'll be back. No need to get frustrated." Yet, Sitri felt the same way. They were so, so close to getting William back. Now, the only thing that stood in their way was an empty room and William himself.

Dantalion slumped down on a sofa. He bowed his head so that Sitri couldn't make out his expression.

Before long, Sitri joined him on one of the sofas. He inspected the state of his costume. Calling it rags would have been more than it deserved—the dress was ruined, torn haphazardly here and there. What little remained of its dignity was now tied fast to Dantalion's arm. He eyed the other demon. There was no telling how long they'd have to wait.

"Truth or dare, Dantalion."

"What?"

"You heard me. Truth or dare?"

"That's the game the kids at Stratford play in the dorms."

"Yes. So truth or dare?"

Dantalion clenched his fist on his knee and looked up. There was something jaded about his expression. Maybe, if Sitri were wiser, he would have stopped the game then. But growing up as a demon had taught him that you needed more than wisdom to survive. You needed persistence.

"Dare," Dantalion growled.

"When William walks through those doors, grab him."

"That's not fair."

"It's a game, Dantalion. It isn't fair."

"Fine," he crossed his arms. "I'll grab him. Truth or dare?"

"Dare."

"If it comes to it, you'll be the one to create the distraction so that we get away."

Sitri gave him a terse look.

"What's wrong? You said it wasn't a fair game, didn't you?"

"Fine. Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"Why did you kill Solomon?"

If Dantalion weren't so heavily clothed, Sitri might have seen the lump in his throat bob up and down.

"Why are you bringing that up now?"

"You asked for a truth."

"You know the answer already. You don't need to ask."

"Yes I do!" Sitri stood up with surprising haste. "No one," he pointed to Dantalion, "no one besides you knows why."

"He told me to."

"I don't believe that."

"But that's all there was to it." He held up his hand. "I killed him with this. Solomon, I mean. I wrapped my hands around his neck and slowly began to tighten my grip." Sitri might have flung at him right there, but something held him back, an aching curiosity that had been growing in him since the night they fought. Since he first discovered that Dantalion was Solomon's murderer.

"Why?"

"Like I said, he told me to." Dantalion looked at both his hands and sad expression crept onto his face. "But you know what he did?"

"What?" Sitri asked in disbelief.

"He smiled."

"You still haven't told me _why_."

"Fine? You want a different answer? I did it because I loved him." Something smoldered in Dantalion's eyes. "But you wouldn't understand that, would you?"

"How dare you!" Sitri shook where he stood. It hardly occurred to him that their lives were in danger then. If Dantalion had made the slightest move, Sitri would have gone straight for his neck, clawing and grabbing and slowly tightening like how Dantalion had described.

But Dantalion didn't move. His eyes flitted and his voice sounded like gravel in his throat. "Truth or dare?"

"I don't want to play anymore." Sitri crossed his arms and looked away. 

"Truth or dare?"

Sitri's lips quivered, but there was no way Dantalion would let him get out of it now.

"Truth."

"Is it true that you've never been in love before?"

Sitri glared at him for a time. There was no menace in that glare, just a sense of frustrated incredulity.

"I…" The voice that belonged to that glare, however, sounded thoughtful and sad. "I don't think we experience love the same way, Dantalion."

Dantalion nodded. "Fair enough."

There was nothing left to say, so Sitri backed away. He'd tried. It was no fair, but he'd tried to love Solomon, to get Solomon to love him, the way Dantalion did. No, perhaps it wasn't love that erupted in his chest every time he saw Solomon. Perhaps the human represented freedom from the cruel, twisted fate he'd been thrown into. Either way, Dantalion had won out in the end.

Just like he always did.

* * *

Blank green eyes stared at Metatron for a moment, and a certain something triggered behind them, but then they shifted away, curiosity drowned by Metatron's smiling.

"Holy Michael." The strangely formal tone was used to address the angel. It was odd to hear a voice hollowed out of emotion, especially one like William's—which had been so full of it just a few days before. "Permit me to deal with the intruders."

"You needn't worry," the callous voice answered. "My guards will be more than enough."

"Forgive me," eyelashes battered softly, "but as I made my way here, I saw a pack of guards laying helplessly on the ground. It seems the intruders have breeched the inner sanctum. Permit me to bring them to justice."

"Already?" Michael muttered under his breath. "Very well. You have my permission to deal with them. Use whatever means necessary."

William bowed. Just as he was about to leave, Michael offered another suggestion. "Call on me before doing away with them. I might like to look on the faces of those who would invade Heaven."

* * *

Dantalion and Sitri waited. There was nothing either of them could say. The spark of camaraderie they'd felt before had turned into an irascible flame. They regarded each other with uneasy, empty silence.

Dantalion was the first to hear it—steady footsteps in the hall. He shot Sitri a look. Then he crept beside the door, ready to seize his captive. Once again, the door opened without a sound, and Dantalion realized he wasn't ready. William didn't notice him when he first walked in, but that wasn't the thing that made him hesitate. It was the way William looked, as if all of the warmth was sucked out of him, as if Dantalion was staring at a corpse.

"Hurry and grab him. What are you waiting for?" Sitri yelled.

That was all it took. William snapped to attention, now aware of the two trespassers in his room.

"Ah, Dantalion and Sitri. Two candidates for substitute king. Where is the third?" His voice was cold and callous.

"William, we—"

"No matter. The two of you shall make a fine present for my master."

An indescribable force pushed Dantalion to the ground. He recovered in another moment, picking himself up from the ground. Without another thought he ran toward William. His arms were around him in another instant, squeezing and hoping William wouldn't struggle.

The figure relaxed in his arms. "Dantalion…" a meek voice whispered.

 _Finally_. Dantalion wanted to say. _I thought I lost you again_. A feeling of joy spread over him as he loosened his grip.

But this was not the unathletic William Twining of Stratford. He was elbowed in the rib, and, as he tried to recuperate the shock, another wave of immaterial coursed through the air and knocked him off his feet and against the wall.

He heard the steady footsteps echo in his mind before opening his eyes. Green the color of a murky pond stared back at him, close enough to kill. A human had drowned in the depths of that green.

Something flashed and he realized a blade the color of starlight rested between his eyes. "Dantalion," William whispered. It was a familiar tone, but Dantalion was not happy to hear it. Although his powers had already been drained away, William's word immobilized him.

He waited for the pretty knife to slit his skin. Just as he thought it would plunge into his skull, William's wrist shook and his expression looked pained. "Why...?" The voice eked out of him and those green eyes shined for a moment. 

Dantalion did not waste another second. "Now Sitri!"

Sitri rushed toward William.

But now, there was no shock etched on William's face, only a barely perceptible smile. The dagger left Dantalion's face.

"Watch out!"

It was too late. Sitri reeled back as the thin blade of a sparkling dagger penetrated below his collarbone. He screamed, a white hot pain shooting through his arm and chest.

William yanked the dagger back as Sitri fell to his knees, clutching the wound.

"Any final words, demon, before this dagger thrusts you into oblivion?" William said with his dead eyes, holding the dagger above his head.

"William…" Sitri gasped, shuddering from the pain.

"How dare you say my name with that disgusting mouth of yours!" The dagger fell to his side and he lifted Sitri up by the collar. "Your death might have been painless, if not for that."

William whistled and a white dove appeared. "Summon my master, bird!" The bird instantly vanished. Within seconds, a white ring of light appeared in the room. The archangel Michael stepped out of this light, his expression brimming with excitement.

Dantalion tried to move, but he was bound by William's words.

The angel looked around, not quite as shocked as he should have been at the sight of demons in Heaven. "Excellent work, my protégé. You've proven yourself admirably." He paused and scanned the room. "Ah Sitri, and Dantalion too! This really is quite the surprise, to see the likes of you here. Was it you who took out my guards?"

"You sneaky bastard! Hand William back now!"

"Tsk, tsk." Michael chuckled. "I will do no such thing. William stays because he wants to stay, isn't that right, William?"

"Of course, my lord. Now then," he raised the dagger and held it to Sitri's throat. It had lost its shimmering light; it looked no different from an ordinary blade now. "I intended for these demons to suffer for committing such a grievous crime. Not only have they infiltrated your sacred Heaven, my lord, but they've insulted your most esteemed name."

"Don't worry." Michael laid a hand on William's shoulder. The gesture made Dantalion grimace. "They will pay most dearly for their crimes."

As if on cue, sentinel angels rushed through the room. It took two of them to drag Dantalion away. He tried to struggle, but he was still under William's command.

"William! Remember who you are!" He shouted. He was hauled out of the room, the doors slamming behind with a reverberating bang.

"Shall we take this one as well, Holy Michael?" A sentinel asked, gesturing to Sitri.

Michael looked closer at the demon.

"Ah, he stabbed you with _that_ blade, didn't he?" Michael asked.

"How could you te-" Sitri clutched his shoulder. It was a pain he hadn't felt before, at once burning and terribly cold. William's grip grew tighter.

"That main-gauche was a prototype for the war. It's a shame it had to be you and not the other one." His eyes lighted, as if there was an inferno in them. "But no matter. It will continue to eat at your insides until there's nothing left." Michael smiled. He tore at the fabric of Sitri's collar, revealing thin white lines that glowed under the flesh as translucent as the tentacles of a jellyfish. "I can see it's already working. You deserve no less than a slow and painful death." He drew closer, whispering mercilessly. "You'll be begging for the end to come soon."

Sitri could only glare at the archangel. His head whirled from the pain. His breath was shallow and thin. Blood seeped from the wound in rivulets down his exposed chest. Michael turned and said something to his guards, but he'd stopped registering the angel's words a long time ago. Above the pain, the feeling of failure rang like bells, filling his ears. He looked away from the angel, into William's eyes. It was blurrier now, but he tried desperately, grasping for the words.

"William, please…" But the rest was lost to a deep and terrible sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

His guards hauled the demons out and Michael allowed himself to smile. A little. 

"So he's proven himself a worthy successor, I take it?" Metatron asked, appearing, as always, suddenly and without warning. The quirk in his voice sounded unusual to Michael, a bit more forceful than it needed to be, and something pulled at the back of his mind. The giant that loomed behind him did not abate Michael's suspicions in the least.

"He has," he replied tersely. As if to busy his mind with something else, he picked up the blade and examined it. It was ordinary now, no longer gleaming with starlight. Tainted by the demon's blood, he guessed, his lips rumpling in displeasure. He'd have to inform his artisans; what good were weapons that only had one use?

"Is there a reason why you've come?" He really should have sounded angrier. Never, ever had demons invaded Heaven. He really should have demanded blood and whoever was responsible to come in dragged by their wings. But he was unusually calm, and his voice, he knew, gave him away.

"Curiosity got the better of me, I suppose. And I—we had to make sure you were safe."

Michael regarded him coolly. "Sadly, you still haven't lost your human emotions, even after all this time." He watched the way the blade shined in the light before putting it away. "Do you know that demon that they just hauled away?"

"Sitri," Metatron answered. "Baalberith's candidate."

"And there was another one as well, one I'm sure you're familiar with."

"Could it be?"

"Dantalion." The demon's cocky grin flashed through his mind. He hadn't forgotten how he'd been humiliated in Elliot Eden's body. 

"Ah. So the questions are what they were doing here and how they got here."

"As to what they were doing, I'm sure that's perfectly obvious." He left Metatron to make the connection there; surely he was smart enough to know that William Twining was a variable in it all. "But as to how—that's something that I'd like you to investigate." Michael stared at him. He'd never been able to determine if the wide smile was just a mask Metatron wore like all those costumes he made, or if it reflected his genuine state of mind. "You keep calling yourself my right hand man. It's about time you live up to it." Something shot through Michael's leg just then, an old, a familiar pain. He tried to hide his face with his bangs as he made for the sofa.

"Are you all right?"

"I'll be fine." He shooed Metatron away. It was not only his leg now, but his head that throbbed, an undulating ache that grew more and more constant like waves upon a narrow shore. "Go now. Find whoever let that scum in and bring them to me. Start with Uriel."

"Of course!"

Michael pinched his eyes shut. He faintly heard Metatron instruct the giant to stand guard. In case there's any more on the loose, he heard him add before the door shut.

He tried to relax. The pain was ebbing away now, going back to whatever miserable place it had come from. What was it coming to now? The question boomed in his head lost in the echoes of demons infiltrating Heaven. How could it have happened? In his territory?

In an instant, he was standing on his feet.

But there was another lingering thought as he marched through the doors, the giant following stiffly behind. Was Metatron truly on his side? Every bit of him wanted to believe that childish face, but there was just something too clever about those eyes, something that made him think of—

A new pain boiled in the pit of his stomach, but this one was different from the one before. He'd known this pain for a long time. A twisting ache, sharp and cruel. One that reduced blood ties and happiness to the rubble of a fallen world.

* * *

Light drifted in and out before him. At times, he was in a small room. But more often he was in the back of his head, living among memories deeply rooted.

Far off someone was singing. A sad song of longing echoing over sand covered ruins.

No.

It wasn't a human voice. It was the sound of a flute.

Then the sound was closer, until he was the one blowing through the vessel, a melody melancholic and hypnotizing. But his fingers were restless. He had forgotten how to play. He squeezed the instrument, yet still the sound came out. He stopped blowing, yet still the sound came out. It wrapped around his head in a blurring rhythm. It grew faster, and louder. He squeezed the hollow vessel with his hands, intending to break it. Still the song. Its sound traversed through him until he was sure he would be engulfed by madness.

_It's not right. Something's not right._

Something cracked in his hands. He squeezed, even after the pulse had disappeared, even after all color had drained from the world and his face. He squeezed.

He squeezed.

And finally the song stopped playing.

And finally Solomon was dead.

Wasn't that what he'd wanted?

"Murderer!"

"Traitor!"

He whipped around. People shouted from the shadows, only their eyes glowed white, as if someone had stabbed them through the skull.

"No… I…" He tried to defend himself, but he could think of no words. He knew those voices as much as he knew the faint whisper of winds howling over a desolate plain.

 _No… this isn't how it happened. I was alone._ They _weren't here._ They _aren't part of this time._

Voices continued to flood the room. Shrieks of accusation attacked him from all sides. He was defenseless under their wrath.

This is what _he_ wanted, he should have said, but instead he bore into those cries. He'd heard them once before, distant cries from a land he was a stranger to.

And the flute started to play again.

* * *

Sitri woke, trembling in the grass. A dream hung lazily just out of reach like a crescent moon above the clouds. He thought he might have liked to reach out to it and remember it, but something intense stopped him with its choking hold. Shaking out of his restfulness, he rose, his line of sight much lower than he imagined it would be.

Looking down where he had slept, he found a lovely bunch of flowers. He crouched down and began to pick them, their rich color enticing him. He'd never seen such a vivid color before, luminous and passionate. A color that contained both light and darkness. He tugged at the stems as quickly as he could, not knowing why he rushed so much.

He left the scene, but as he walked, he noticed that other flowers had begun to color themselves with the same intense hue—once white blossoms now painted that lovely, livid color. He might have crouched down to pick them as well, but he stopped when he saw it: figures of white cutting against the landscape. He ran toward them.

He approached the angels, but he could not make out their features. The light cast shadows on their faces. He stopped then. Something felt different. He couldn't place it, but he suddenly felt guilty about picking the flowers. He rubbed his arms together, wondering where such a thought had come from. 

"What a disgraceful child," he heard. His eyes shot upward. The figures were approaching him, there faces shadows wrapped in light. It was impossible to tell one apart from the other. But still, he knew. 

"Mother?" He gasped, with the smallest voice imaginable. The angel faced him with that shadow face of hers. 

"Mother? How dare you call me that!" she scoffed. "I have no son."

"Tainted!" One cried beside here, its wings spreading to cut off his path. 

"Shameful!" Another whispered, coming up beside him and spreading its arms. 

"Defiled!" she said, disgusted. 

They crowded around him until he was forced to retreat. His bare feet stepped carefully back. They chanted their words, an agonizing chorus that shred at the better parts of his soul. Finally he reached the ledge. 

"No... please... Mother...." 

She stepped forward and held out a hand. He went to take it when he felt the impact in his chest. 

He fell. She had pushed him.

The angels voices still echoed in his head, against his ears like the whipping wind.

And now, he finally realized, the petals crushed in his hand, that the flowers had been dyed with his own blood.

* * *

The portal opened and Uriel stumbled out, exhausted. He could have chalked that up to many things—fatigue over finding the remnants of his supporters, nerves from Metatron's talk of demons in Heaven, and worry over William. In spite of this, he moved with a sense of urgency, his priest's robes fluttering in the chilly night.

Stratford was still. His shoes clacked on the cobblestones and were met by echoes. He quickly shifted along the courtyard, his steps long practiced and steady. In the Headmaster's dorm, a single candle burned, its glow painting the window a pale gold. Within a second, he could strike up a wind to blow that candle out, and in the confusion…

"I'm afraid that's as far as you'll get."

Uriel spun around.

Camio, one of the princes of the Underworld, stood behind him. Uriel had always had trouble with this one—perhaps because the other two were so easy to figure out. What went on behind that solemn face and those pale gold eyes was anyone's guess.

"You…" Uriel began. "What have you done with Raguel?"

"He is safe," the demon answered. There was a brisk dismissiveness to his manner that told Uriel, against all his doubts, that the demon was not lying. "That I can assure you."

Even so, Uriel pressed on. "If that's the case, he can tell me himself."

He went to move, but the demon blocked his path, appearing before him when he should have been behind.

"If you continue to get in my way, I will not be merciful." Uriel couldn't hide his resentment. 

"I am not your opponent today." The demon relaxed his stance, but his tone did not waver. "I am merely a messenger."

"I'm listening," he replied curtly.

"Raguel wishes to cut all ties with you."

Uriel's eyes widened, but he kept his voice steady and his body still. He could not show weakness to a demon. "You expect me to believe that?"

Camio crossed his arms. "What you believe does not concern me. Simply, Raguel will cease to be your supporter from this moment forward."

"Then I must see that for myself."

The demon moved forward.

Suddenly, the window glowed brighter. Raguel appeared, a lone candlestick burning in hand.

"Is this true, Raguel?" Uriel asked.

The angel stared blankly back at him. It was the same, remorseful look that Uriel saw when Raguel begged him to impart ecstasy on William. He'd wanted to say something during those times, if just to brighten the mood. But those times had never come, and it looked like they would not come again. Raguel tilted his head and the gold color vanished. The window showed only opaque darkness.

"You… what have you done to him?"

Camio's eyes were cold, pooled with shadows. "Go back to Heaven, Uriel."

"What have you threatened him with? I refuse to believe that it was Raguel's choice."

"Then believe whatever puts your mind at ease." Camio turned around.

Uriel considered yelling at him, calling on him to wait, piercing him with the spears of Heaven. But he could not. Camio had already returned back inside, and something told him nothing he'd have said would have mattered anyway. Raguel had his reasons, just as he had his. He found himself leaving the way he'd come, his feet clicking a parody of the steps he'd done only moments before. He no longer cared how irritating it was to create a new portal. He only cared about getting out of there and erasing the moment, the bitter feeling of helplessness, from his head. The golden doorway glimmered through the trees and he stepped in. Its soft embrace shouldered the pain. If only a little.

He had no time to process his thoughts when he returned, however. A smiling face greeted him as he stepped through, back into his territory.

"Welcome back!" Metatron greeted him.

Uriel stopped in his tracks. "Why are you here?" 

"I have some questions for you," Metatron showed his casual grin. He came up to Uriel, so close it was as if he were trying to catch his scent. "Michael believes someone has broken one of our laws, that someone has betrayed him."

"It seems strange that _you_ would come to me with an accusation of treason when it's you who clearly means to betray Michael."

"Either way, Michael ordered me to question you first."

"Did he?" Uriel's glare might have made a glacier colder, but it had no effect on Metatron. "And would the punishment be another wing?"

"He didn't specify."

"Of course he didn't. Not to _you_." He paused for a moment, trying to calm his nerves and failing at it. "Just whose side are you on, Metatron?"

"The side that intends to see Michael get the sleep he needs and deserves."

Uriel gave a callous grin. "Not even Michael is on that side."

Metatron's expression grew dark. "Not yet." Even Uriel had thought to recoil from that look. It was the kind of look that could make even demons shudder. "But I won't make my visit a complete waste. It's obvious you had no part in it."

"You know who did, don't you?"

"Of course. But only because I was in the right place at the right time."

Uriel looked as if he would ask, but then his lips snapped back into place.

"And you'll learn soon as well. But in the mean time, I need you to commit an actual act of treason."

"Did I hear you correctly?"

"Yes, treason. There are a couple of demons hidden somewhere in Michael's territory. I'm sure you know where. I need you to set them free."

"You can't mean…" Uriel's body grew cold. He hadn't even wrapped his mind around demons in Heaven since their last talk. But of course, for what other reason would demons risk outright war and certain death?

"The two candidates for substitute king, Dantalion and Sitri." Uriel was hesitant. Why would Metatron need them freed? And why had Heaven even bothered keeping them alive? Something else was happening, and he felt it was much bigger than Metatron's plot.

"Perhaps I should sweeten the deal," Metatron smiled.

The giant came in then, carrying something that made Uriel's heart leap.

* * *

Dantalion was awake, but just barely. His mind might have been content to stay inside the hazy darkness behind his eyelids, but he could feel something that knocked on the door of his waking mind. Someone was there with him, a presence that made his skin prick.

"Feh, angel," Dantalion snarled.

This time he would break free, he told himself. He opened his eyes and tried to remember why he was trapped in the first place, why he was here in this…. dungeon wasn't quite the right word. It was too _pretty_ for a dungeon, but he hated it all the same. He struggled against his bonds, but a stinging magic held him in place. Something surged through his muddled brain. A nagging feeling, as if he had overlooked something. His eyes looked around the room, but nothing stood out.

Then, at the corner of his eye—

"Uriel!"

The binding spell shattered into dazzling, etherial fragments. They dissolved before hitting the ground. Dantalion, as well, was suddenly on the ground, the restraints no longer holding him in place.

He rose immediately after, quirking his cheek as the pain from the fall intensified. "What're you doing here?" he asked, although it might have come out more slurred than he wanted it to.

"My actions speak for themselves." Uriel leered, his voice devoid of emotion. "You're free, aren't you?"

Dantalion rubbed his cheek and tried to recall why exactly it was Uriel who had to come to his rescue this time. Dead, green eyes invaded his mind, the memory like ice creeping along his veins. That's right, he remembered, I'm in Heaven. Michael captured us…. _us_.

"I take it you freed Sitri, too."

"He's resting outside."

 _Outside_. "Just where are we, exactly?"

"Underneath Michael's territory. He's been keeping you prisoner." Uriel's responses were short and uninvolved.

"You angels are pretty vicious with your prisoners," Dantalion muttered while grinding his teeth. The dreams were slipping away now, but he remembered how vivid they were. How they replayed over and over in his head. How he'd lived his worst memories over and over again.

"I'm sure they're nothing compared to what demons do in Hell."

"No, it just surprised me, is all." That was a lie. Given the choice, Dantalion would have preferred the way the demons did it.

Sitri was leaning against the wall when he left the room. His head was bowed and he didn't so much as look up when Dantalion crossed his path.

They were in a cave so full of light it might have been a cathedral. The walls glittered, shining with pearly pinks and periwinkle. Crystal columns that seemed to glow from the inside shot up to the ceiling, as if they were holding up the cavern. It was entirely too radiant for Dantalion. He squinted.

When his eyes finally adjusted, he saw that Sitri had left his place at the wall and joined them. Red streaked his dress, but it seemed as if someone had tended to his injury.

"So this is like a cave?" Dantalion hadn't pictured the island being hollow when he'd viewed it from above—it seemed entirely too massive. Even the columns of crystal seemed frail compared to the weight they had to hold.

There was little time to study it, he soon realized. Uriel was already paces away by the time he looked back. "Hurry," he barked at them.

Dantalion was quick to pick up the pace, his feet tapping on the smooth, marble-like floor. His mind still felt blurred at the edges and, as he stumbled along, he realized he could never seem to get the right footing. He still had many questions to ask the angel, but he wasn't sure if he wanted Uriel to answer them. Were they allies now or did they just have the same goal? Were they going back for William or was Uriel leading them to their doom?

Paranoia dug into him as the cave twisted and he felt a moment of lightheadedness as they rounded a passage. He remembered he had no more power than a human and dreaded having to depend on Uriel.

They entered another passage, an inconspicuous one of pink-tinted crystals. "Stop there," Uriel said to them. He walked a few paces ahead and turned around behind a crystal structure that came up to his chest. Only then did his eyes betray a hint of emotion. Only then did it look like he had been trying to hide something.

Dantalion raced forward Uriel bent down. "Just what are you trying-," he started, but the words seemed to escape from his chest when he saw what Uriel was holding. 

"William?" The boy appeared to be asleep, his body almost too big for Uriel's arms. The rosy color of the cave looked like it had crept into his cheeks. 

"But how?" Dantalion asked, but Uriel carried on, resolutely going forward without an explanation.

"Hey, are you gonna explain this? Any of this?" Dantalion couldn't keep his voice down and Uriel shot him a glare.

"Now isn't the right time" he answered. He led them through a tunnel, barely wide or tall enough for the four of them. He held William carefully as he walked, and refused to turn back when he spoke.

"Then can you at least answer where we're going?" Dantalion might have had a lot to be grateful for, but he also had fury building in him like an overheated core.

"I'm taking you to a portal that leads to the human world. I want you to take the young master back there and keep him safe."

"Safe? He's trying to kill us."

"He won't… he's been freed from the ecstasy."

"What do you mean?" Dantalion's eyes narrowed. As far as he knew, ecstasy worked the same way as contracts in the demon world, and there was no simple way of freeing one's self from them.

"The angel who did it to him let him go."

"Michael?"

"No." Uriel paused. "Not Michael."

"Then who?"

Uriel sighed. "I can't tell you."

Dantalion didn't like that answer. He grabbed hold of Uriel's shoulder and made him stop. The sudden movement even made Sitri bump into him. Sitri let out a gasp, which was the most sound he'd made the entire time.

"If it wasn't Michael, then who? Who did this to him?" Dantalion's voice was full of vindictive rage. "I want a name."

Uriel faced him blankly. "I can't tell you."

"You dare tell me that!" For a moment, Dantalion almost forgot that his powers were sealed away. If not, he would have…

"I am not your enemy, Dantalion. Not now." Uriel blinked, his voice steady and even. "The one who did this… his aim was never William to begin with. Rest assured, the young master will be safe in the human world if we get out of here."

Dantalion let him go, his fist still shaking. "Just what sort of game are you angels playing?"

Uriel turned around, and Dantalion could feel the unwavering resoluteness in his voice. "A game I will not lose because of you."

They reached a wider cavern. This one was darker and Dantalion guessed they were probably deeper in. There were no pretty crystals here, just hard, smooth stone. He tried to see to the other end, but it was too dark.

"This is as far as I can take you you."

Dantalion tensed. "What are you—"

"Take the young master." William was shoved into his arms. "The portal is through a tunnel at the other end of this cavern."

"What? Uriel? Where are you going?"

But in a flash of feathers, Uriel was gone.

"Now what?" Dantalion ground his teeth. At least William's weight in his arms was a comforting one.

He was not still for long. Sitri walked ahead of him and Dantalion followed. They made it to the end of the cavern and entered the small, narrow passageway. Dantalion crouched, sure not to knock William's head into the walls.

"And you, why are you so quiet?" He whispered.

For a while, there was only the sound of their footsteps on the hard ground. Dantalion had given up expecting an answer when it finally came.

"You saw things too, didn't you, Dantalion? When we were taken prisoner." His voice sounded almost ghostly in the darkness of the small passage. "Things that did and didn't happen."

He was hoping to forget about the vicious memories by now and regretted asking Sitri the question. But he hadn't forgotten and he _had_ asked. Sound started to play in his ear and he held William tightly to forget about it.

"I don't know anymore, Dantalion. Which memory was real and which one wasn't. They've stolen that from me."

Dantalion bit his lip. Memories that he'd tried to drown had come back to the surface, and, as he desperately tried to push them down again, he wondered which fragments were his. Heaven had found a way to make them suffer and to make that suffering last forever.

He was so deep in his thoughts that he didn't notice Sitri's arm until he collided with it. They'd reached the end of the tunnel.

"Shh," Sitri whispered. "I hear something."

They ducked behind a rock formation and peered out. Farther down stood crowds of angels. Cloth covered their faces signifying their rank: soldiers of Heaven's army. But whose flock, Dantalion wondered.

They ducked back into the small passage before the angels could see them.

"Uriel didn't say anything about other angels being down here," Dantalion whispered. They were tucked into the tunnel just far enough in to observe the angels.

"He probably didn't know."

Dantalion pressed his lips together. They were in a bind. Besides the boulder, there was little that they could hide behind. He observed his surroundings for something. Instead, he saw _it._ At the back of the cave, behind the angels, he noticed a glowing circle of light. The portal.

"Don't think you can hide there." The tunnel burst into fragments and Dantalion dove to cover William with his body. His ears rang for a moment as he tried to turn around. When he finally did, he saw Jeanne of Arc hovering above him.

"Of course," Dantalion wanted to snicker. "It would be you. Come to send us off, have you?"

"Sinners." The crosses shined in her eyes. "How dare you disgrace holy ground!" Her weapon of choice, a flag, twirled in her hands.

Dantalion leapt to his feet as another blast ricocheted his way. It was followed by a rumble as the entire cavern shook. He had to hold William closely for fear of launching him as he stumbled. By then, Sitri had disappeared and all he could see was a wall in front of him.

Quickly he turned direction, but it was too late. An angel spread its wings before him, blocking his way. He turned again. This time he came face to face with Jeanne.

"My beloved master will be so happy to hear that I've dealt with you." She grinned. There was laughter in her voice, but her eyes only reflected the emptiness in her mind. All the things that had made Jeanne Jeanne were long gone. Only a sort of stuffing remained, one of feathers dyed by Michael's hand.

Dantalion shuddered as she plunged forward.

He could only throw William to the side as he caught the force of her attack. The pole slashed him across his chest and he stumbled backward. She swiped again, but he was able to avoid it this time. He winced, feeling the wall at his back. He rolled over just as the pole slammed into the wall next to him, rock breaking from the force. He wanted to make sure William was okay, that the angels didn't have him.

But he couldn't look around. Jeanne hovered above, ready to plunge the pole into him.

"I bid you goodbye, Dantalion."


	9. Chapter 9

“Take the young master. The portal is through a tunnel at the other end of this cavern.”

“What? Uriel? Where are you going?”

He didn’t answer the demon’s questions. He didn’t need to.

Dantalion’s words died out as wind rushed over him, the darkness of the cave giving way to pure light. He looked around himself and, as expected, he was suspended in front of Michael’s tower.

“Holy Michael,” his voice intoned, loud enough so that it was heard by the tower before him. “You have left me no choice.”

He raised a hand and his squadron materialized behind him, angels who had still stood after being broken and demoted. “Attack the tower,” he ordered.

They obeyed his command, shafts of light blazing toward the tower with lightning speed. It didn’t work, of course. The blasts fizzled away as they hit the barrier, sparks bursting over the crystal shield. 

That was when he heard the voice, ringing high and clear in the sky above him. “You dare turn against me?”

Uriel moved out of the way just as light shot down from the sky above. Some of his soldiers were caught in the shafts and they fell to the ground below, so far down that Uriel couldn’t hear the impact of their falls.

He looked up, expecting to see the archangel scowling with gleaming, red eyes. Instead, he saw angels of Michael’s personal guard flying above him. They thrust their spears toward him, the spear tips gathering light in brilliant pinpoints. The sky behind them shined a burnished orange. It turned the angel's light golden and their wings bronze. 

“Uriel,” one shouted. “Relinquish Solomon's vessel immediately.”

He saw that the attack was meant for him. No matter what happened, they would not stray from their target, and neither would he. 

Uriel looked up, his silence the only answer he would give them. He wondered if those demons would keep William safe. He knew he couldn’t trust them, but he could trust Heaven even less. At least, with demons like that, William would still be William. 

But, of course, William wasn’t the only reason his lips did not move. It’d been too long. He was tired of Michael’s vicious circle of revenge. He longed to be free from it, and he knew that death could bring him that freedom.

His eyes reflected murky uncertainty, but his face held firm even as the angels released the glowing light. It carried itself down, down, a glowing ball of ravishing heat and obliteration.

He felt himself move, as if he were tumbling in the air, floating in mid-space.

But when Uriel opened his eyes he wasn’t staring at his own death. The smell of burning feathers engulfed him and he saw something falling.

* * *

Something in Dantalion snapped then. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he felt it, a physical vibration that crept over his body and made his fingers tremble with anticipation. He let it collect in his palm and held it up to Jeanne.

And he was glad he did. It was fire, raw and unconquered. It fled from his hand like a wild animal finally freed and blazed toward Jeanne. She gasped and flew up, the flames barely licking her toes. Her mouth turned in disgust and for a second the light in her eyes disappeared. Her words dripped bitterly as she flew ever upwards. “How I hate fire.”

Then the moment was gone. Her smile returned and the shapes on her pupils dilated anew. She whipped her flag in front of her and proclaimed, “all the more reason to make this quick,” before driving at him.

Dantalion was ready. He called for the fire, having no time to guess why he was able to use it again. They swiped at each other, Jeanne warding off the flame-like tendrils with her flag, Dantalion ushering the flames. Angels came at him from the sides, but they were hesitant to get too close. Fire fanned out around him, the heat unbearable.

“If I can’t get you this way,” she said, then jumped high very suddenly. “Then how about this?” She dove toward him. He shot fireballs at her, but her flag batted them away. Dantalion skirted away just as her pole hit the ground, making a crater in the cave floor.

He thought he had her when he felt a sharp pain on his back. Turning around, he saw that more angels had surrounded him, their feathers like thorns digging into him.

He turned around just in time to see Jeanne pull her flag out and jump in the air again. She prepared to dive into him again. Suddenly, time seemed to stop. Jeanne floated in mid-air, unmoving, as if something had crawled into her head. Her eyes seemed even more dead and soulless than usual, and, Dantalion noticed, that not even her flag unraveled at the awkward position. Dantalion moved wearily, unsure whether to defend himself or run. A moment later, her eyes snapped back to life-or something close to it. “It seems my master needs me. But a fourth of my army’s more than enough to take care of you!”

She and her army rose up through a portal of shining, white light. Feathers clouded his vision and for a moment, all Dantalion could see was a pure, unstained whiteness.

* * *

The light from Jeanne’s departure had only just started to dissipate as Sitri crept along the cave’s wall. With William wrapped around his shoulders, it was an arduous stride, the boy's weight stung against his bad shoulder as he nearly dragged him. At times, the pain overtook him and he had to rest against the wall. It was during one of those times that they came to him.

“Sitri…” The angels spoke in unison. Their voices were like wind flowing through an empty passage. “Hand over Solomon’s vessel.”

“N-no!” He held William tighter, fearful that the angels would swipe in and rip him away. 

“Master Michael has agreed to give you back your wings if you hand him over.” Sitri breathed. He hadn’t had time to refuse Michael that first time in Stratford’s chapel. He was sure it would hurt even more when he refused aloud.

“No,” he whispered hoarsely. His heart sank somewhere deep in his chest. It was bitter, the taste of refusing one's dreams. 

“Are you sure, Sitri?” They asked. It occurred to him that the emptiness in their voices was due to all of them speaking together in the same sorrowing tone. “With your wings, you’ll be able to see her again.”

He rubbed his face against William's, as if to reassure himself that the human was right there. How hard it was to resist a wish that had held him together as he plunged into a pit of darkness.

“I can’t…” He shouted at them. Tears had started to fall down his face, but he was unsure if they were from the pain in his shoulder or the decision he'd made.

“He is a human, Sitri. He will eventually die if you bring him back to the human world. Refusing us would be meaningless.”

“I-I know.” He hauled William onto his back, the boy’s head lolling on his good shoulder.

“Return him to Michael and he will be granted eternal life as well. The two of you can be angels together.”

He leered at them. How dare they come to him now. How dare they dangle _that_ in front of him after everything. Where were they when he had first fallen? Where were they when—?

“You could be happy, Sitri.”

The words made Sitri lash out, power fizzing at his fingertips until it was a shockwave that knocked them all away. 

* * *

“Raguel!” Uriel cried out, his heart pulsing as he saw the angel descend. He sped down, forgetting all about the angels above. His thoughts were on the sad face in the window, the concerned eyes that looked at him as if he were still _whole._ Why hadn't it been obvious that Raguel cared for him enough to send Heaven crashing down?

He caught him just before the buildings of Michael’s city could. “Raguel?” He heard shouts from above and guessed his squadron had advanced on the guard.

Raguel opened his eyes. “Master Uriel?” he whispered softly, a touch of relief adding life to an otherwise broken voice.

“What are you doing here?” He knew he would need to return to the battle soon. He knew they were vulnerable so far down, but he could not tear himself away.

“I didn’t want you to get involved,” Raguel answered weakly. “I… I was the one who let those demons into Heaven. I thought if I did that, you wouldn’t have to get him yourself.” He coughed. “I guess I was wrong.”

"No..." Uriel shook his head. "You did what I would have done." 

"We... we can't let them win." Raguel's eyes narrowed. He looked as if he were ready to fight again and Uriel blamed himself for it. 

"Do what you need to do." The words tasted sour, but Uriel could not help but say them. 

He could feel Raguel’s wings in his arms. The feathers looked like they’d been plucked thin and singed. Nonetheless, he departed from Uriel’s arms in two swift beats. He rose above and Uriel followed him, toward the thick of the battle. Feathers fell like snow, and had it been another time, Uriel might have been awed by the beauty of it. 

“Master Michael,” he heard Raguel say, his voice everywhere in its proclamation. “You have punished the wrong angel. It was _I_ who let the demons into Heaven. In effect, it was I who took Solomon’s vessel, although I could not tell you where he is now.”

Michael made no response. Instead, a giant portal opened and another army came up through the cracks along with his precious saint.

“Traitors!” Jeanne hovered above her ranks. Her flagpole stayed steady in her hand and Uriel winced when he saw that blood covered the fabric of the flag.

Raguel soon disappeared in the rush of her army as Uriel tried to fend them off. 

If William would have asked how angels fought, Uriel would not have told him. He would not have told him how brutal their battles were. He would not have told him how poles impaled wings nor how spears slashed through bodies. He would not have said blood covered the streets of Michael’s territory that day, nor how captives’ throats were slit for a quick death.

He would not have told him that each side fought ruthlessly because each side knew that Heaven did not need more fallen in Hell. Angels who fought and lost were condemned to die. That was the mercy of Heaven. Yet, Uriel knew, if they captured him, Michael would not be so merciful.

His soldiers dropped out of the sky like lifeless birds. Jeanne was powerful, as was her army. They overwhelmed his soldiers with their superior strength, with their unnerving loyalty to Michael. He said a silent prayer for his soldiers, shuddering at the irony of praying for dead angels.

Then he saw her, her dress skirt on the breeze.

“Uriel and Raguel! You have been accused of treason against Heaven! On behalf of His Holiness, I have been sent to punish you.”

She came at him, aiming her flagpole at his heart.

In life, he’d heard, she hadn’t been much of a warrior, but in the strange half-life that Michael had bestowed, her movements were precise, poking and prodding at him with the pole’s point. He staved her off, but her attacks were persistent and fast. Her pole hit one of his legs and then his side with a terrible crack. He gasped, retreating from her and the pain.

“Jeanne,” he said, his voice rasping from the fight.

She smiled. “You thought you could sneak him out, could you?”

Uriel hesitated. She plunged the pole into his side and he let out a scream. 

“I saw them, you know," she said as he moved away, the feeling of the pole sliding against his insides. "The demons and that English boy.” She pulled out her spear and Uriel screamed as his blood gushed out. 

Uriel tried to subdue the desperation in his voice as he tried to get closer despite the danger. “What have you done to him?”

She swung the flag around, warding him off. “My army is taking care of them. Soon, that boy will join us again as an angel.”

He held his side. His eyes darkened. "But would that really be good for you?" 

This caught Jeanne off guard. She twirled the flag, a look of confusion blooming on her features. "I don't know what you mean," she snapped, but Uriel could tell she was curious.

“Aren’t you jealous, Jeanne? Michael suddenly has more interest in that boy than you.”

Jeanne’s expression did not change. “This body does not feel jealousy. It is simply an instrument of Master Michael’s will.”

Uriel made no denial of that.

He thrust his spear at her without warning. She went to defend herself when suddenly, he let it go. It flew, lodging itself in her stomach. She let out a shriek, blood forming at the edge of her mouth. As the spear disappeared she started to drop. He never expected her to hit the ground. As he guessed, soldiers surrounded her and lifted her away from the battle.

“That was cruel,” someone said behind him.

Uriel felt himself grow cold.

* * *

Dantalion peered out at the army of angels that blocked his way. They must have anticipated him, because, as he raised his fires, they raised their spears. In great spiraling motions, he released the flames. Explosions ricocheted throughout the cave, a sound gratifying to Dantalion’s ears. His powers were back, and he would let them all know.

Smiling ruthlessly, he shot a fireball straight down the middle of the crowd. He did not notice, however, the spear that was flung in his direction. It hit him before he could see it, and he recoiled from the shock. His left arm erupted in pain. He snarled, hating how he had been so careless. Just as he pulled it out, another came, hurdling right for his head. He dodged it, but could not dodge the flood of feathers and that dug into his skin like a sandstorm of hundreds of needles.

He covered his face and backed away. When it was quiet, he looked at his arm, a mockery of a bloodied bird. With no choice, he ripped the feathers from his skin, suppressing a scream from the pain. His blood flowed with the quills like the splatter of a deranged painter.

“Damn you!” He roared, finding the nearest angel and holding it up by the neck. The angel shrieked as the flames engulfed it. Feathers on his skin burned away as he wrapped the fires around his arm and sent them toward anything near him. By now, the cave was a mess of blood and feathers.

He looked around, trying to find William. His heart started to race despite the angels’ attacks. William was nowhere in sight.

Cursing himself, he tried making it through the crowd. The cloak he’d worn had turned to shreds and now nothing protected him from the angels’ feathers. That seemed to be their last defense as he pummeled through them with his funnel of fire. The quills would rip along his flesh as he moved forward, but he didn’t care about the pain. William was somewhere, within his reach once again, and he would get to him. That’s when he felt it, a burst of power that shook through him. He looked toward it and saw them: Sitri huddled against the wall, ragged-looking as he was, and William.

“Will—” Dantalion burst out and sprinted to the both of them.

His fire was stronger now and it rose in magnificent arcs, burning whatever it came in contact with. The angels were too smart to get close now; they huddled just out of reach and watched helplessly as the demon reunited with the human. 

“You…” Dantalion said to Sitri when he reached him.  Carefully, he took William from the other demon and started for the portal. The crowd had seized up in front of their destination, but now Sitri ran beside him, sending enough force into his blows to knock the columns back. Dantalion raced straight through the middle of the barrage, a feeling—not unlike flying—making him feel weightless. 

There was no force that could have kept him away from the portal at the point. He ran for it and felt it usher him in. He wrapped his arms around William to make sure the boy was solid. _Real._  

Sitri looked back. What remained of Jeanne's army now watched him carefully. If he listened closely he could still hear them offering wings and happiness. 

“What are you waiting for?” Dantalion called. The portal was drawing Sitri in, he could feel himself surrendering to its pull. 

“Nothing,” he said as he jumped in.

As Heaven diverged into the human world, what he should have said came rushing back to him.

_I just wanted to see her again._

* * *

“It’s nothing personal, Uriel.” Metatron’s look was placid and Uriel knew he was not lying. The attack came before he could see it, a lashing of wind so strong he needed to fold his wing for fear of the bone breaking.

He tumbled backward in the current, the world turning over in itself until the rush finally made him close his eyes. When he finally opened them again, Metatron had disappeared. Uriel turned around frantically. This time, the attack came from above and he sped through the air unable to control where he was going. In another moment, he was slammed against a wall. His whole body trembled in pain. A cough erupted in his throat and blood came gushing from his mouth.

“Metatron…” His throat felt dry and raspy when he was finally able to speak.

“Uriel.” The angel floated down so that they were at eye level. He seemed to be enjoying himself, at least, Uriel surmised, that was what the faint glimmer of a smile told him. Uriel scowled.

“That’s quite a cold expression, Uriel,” Metatron chided.

“How could it be any other?  I forfeited my life when I decided to join you,” Uriel remarked darkly. When Sandalphon had come in carrying William, Uriel’s first reaction was to run up to the boy and make sure he was still breathing. But he’d waited, baiting his breath, until Metatron laid out the terms. His demands were simple: cause enough of a distraction to allow time for the demons to escape with William. Uriel had gone over in his head why he should trust Metatron and had finally decided that it wasn’t trust that made him risk his life in a futile rebellion. It was the fear of not knowing what Metatron would do to him or William if he refused.

“You could say that, Uriel.” The angel’s voice brought him back to the present. “But think on the life you lead now. There really isn’t that much to remark on.”

Uriel shot him a look made of poison.

“Now, now, don’t show me that ugly face. I must keep up appearances, you know.” Metatron’s face stayed the same, plastered on what Uriel thought was pleasant. It did not change when Sandalphon came, holding another thing that made Uriel’s heart leap.

“Master Uriel!” Raguel screamed as the giant clutched his arm in a grueling twist.

“Stop it!” Panic ripped through Uriel’s voice, making him forget the elaborate play he was acting out. “Let go of him!” He lashed out with his spears, but Metatron avoided them easily.

“I’ve really had enough of you angels, you know.” Metatron plucked a few of Raguel’s feathers. He eyed them shrewdly and rubbed them with his thumb. “Feeling so entitled to Heaven and God’s presence. It’s a shame you were all born with egos. If you’d just been born empty dolls of God’s will, Heaven wouldn’t have had to become like this.” He blew the feathers, watching them float in the air before falling languidly down below. “I guess there’s no helping it now.”

Uriel barely registered the light before the pain came, every part of his body squeezing in agony. Through his screams he thought he heard the sound of something snapping.

Just before he blacked out, he heard the voice again. “But, of course, that’s what makes it so fun!”

* * *

Dantalion breathed. For a few moments, all he could do was breathe. They were back, Stratford's cobbled stones and brick buildings within sight just outside the trees. William lay in his arms and that was a comforting feeling enough; nothing like Heaven's light and air. He felt cold and damp and bloodied, but he welcomed that feeling above any other at that moment. 

When he looked around, he saw that Sitri’s dress was in tatters. The demon clutched at his shoulder and then fumbled with the piece of cloth that covered it. Almost instinctively, Dantalion propped William against a tree and walked over to him.

“Here,” Dantalion said, “let me.” He unwrapped the bandages and found the injury. Channels of white veined out from where the blade had stabbed him. Dantalion pressed his lips together, trying to make sense of it; it reminded him of the thin cracks in a surface of a barrier when it was hit by something its owner didn’t quite anticipate.

At once, Sitri tried to pull away but Dantalion grabbed his arm and stopped him. He was forceful, but there was a gentleness in it that Sitri seemed to recognize. He gave in, letting Dantalion wrap up the strange wound.

“So you don’t like me, huh? I’m a freak? Was that the word you used?”

Sitri looked away, embarrassed that he’d admitted something so personal. Dantalion still held his arm. It was impossible to avoid it. “I said that, didn't I?" 

“It doesn’t matter.” Dantalion tightened the cloth, just enough so that it wouldn’t come loose. “Just forget about it.” He tried to give a good-natured smile, but it turned out crooked and insincere. 

"You- _we_ have to keep an eye on William now," Sitri said. "More than ever now." 

Dantalion looked over to the boy. "I know _._ " 

The night shook with a sudden silence.

Neither of them could think of the right words to say, as if those right words could have assuaged the joy and pain they felt at that moment. They longed to go back to a place of indifference, to that placid feeling of mutual  _dislike_ , but Heaven had etched its scar upon them with broken wings and false memories and now they finally, regrettably, had something in common. Dantalion let go of Sitri's arm and Sitri held his arms to his chest, as if he had lost more warmth than Dantalion had ever given him.  

“Let’s get William in bed," Dantalion said, picking William up and heading for the school. 

Sitri followed close behind. He knew he could no longer hate the Nephilim and it was a thought scary and unknown. He knew the other probably felt the same. They'd rescued William, they'd defeated Jeanne's forces and managed to survive against the angels. But somehow it did not feel like a victory. Rather, as the lights of Stratford came into view, Sitri felt like it was only the beginning of a prolonged defeat. 


	10. Chapter 10

Gray. That was all the world was right now, a calm, blanketing sort of gray. William waited for the weather to change, but the clouds never lifted and the wind never stirred. He sloshed around the nearly melted snow, wondering just how long the winter would last. Hopefully, it would adopt some other color than the hopeless gray.

He was tired. He could feel it in his eyes, a stinging sort of pain that only attacked him when he was up too long. Perhaps it was the last few days finally catching up with him. He’d gotten the story, or at least parts of it, from Dantalion. In stops and starts, the demon had told him about an angel kidnapping him and turning him into Michael’s puppet. He’d learned quite a deal about Heaven’s infrastructure as he made Dantalion describe the islands (odd, he never pictured Heaven as islands) in detail. Still, there were bits he was sure the demon hadn’t told him. He’d witnessed Dantalion face grow solemn when it came to their confrontation and what had happened after that. The story only became interesting again when he started to talk of Kevin coming to the rescue and Jeanne of Arc’s army.

Of course, he had no memory of the events. Search as he might, he could only vaguely remember coming down with a fever. Even then, parts of his memory were blurry, fresh snow crushed under heavy footsteps. It was as if it had been wiped from his mind, or at least deeply buried, as much as the clouds buried the sun overhead.

Perhaps the most infuriating part of the whole affair was that his name had been expunged from the school records. Begrudgingly, he’d allowed the demon to fix that for him so that now William Twining had only had a short leave of absence in the school’s record books and the faculties’ memories. He’d missed his exams, as well, and would need to retake them during the next term, but that hardly mattered for one of superior intellect like himself.

The school was empty now, the students having been excused for the holidays. William had stayed on as he said he would, not wanting to brave the long way to Pembrokeshire for an equally empty house.

Now, he braved the bitingly-cold walk across campus to collect his mail from the repository. No prefects meant no mail passed out directly to the students. He liked the walk, however. He'd made it many times when he'd been a prefect at Jacob dormitory. Only when he made the walk back did the cold air seem to sting with a new vigor. “Still no word from Kevin,” he mumbled to himself as he flashed through the letters. From Dantalion’s words, it sounded like Kevin had been involved in a plot to betray Michael. He hoped  nothing terrible had happened, but he knew it was his kidnapping that had spurred his butler into action. William's chest hurt just a little at the realization. That Kevin had risked his life-his immortal life-to help him dug a nail into his chest. He had to suppress the memories of Kevin's smiling face for fear of... of... he didn't know what would happen. Perhaps it was that anxiety that made him pick up the pace to his dorm. He tried to calm himself down by creating a list of the books he would peruse over the course of the afternoon.

That’s when something caught his eye, hovering about five feet above the ground to the side of him. He turned. Mathers waved.

“Wh-what are you—?” William gasped. The letters nearly fell from his hand, and he had to tighten his grip to keep them from getting soaked on the wet ground.

“I thought I’d drop by and pay my dearest pupil a little visit.” The man winked. His blue eyes always seemed to have something dubious behind them and the added effect of his thick eyelashes didn't help. Most of his messy brown hair was lusciously tucked under his tricorne, and a fringe of his hair blew in the wind. He certainly was dashing, William thought, and a bit of a dandy at that. “And, I couldn’t let a promising young student lapse in his studies. What do you say?”

For once, William was thrilled at the prospect of an empty school. There’d be much less worrying about anyone seeing them and much, much more magic. “When can we start… er… Master? Count?”

Mathers gave him a cunning grin. “Call me what you’d like, it’s a holiday.” He swayed in the air. “But don’t get too daring. Not yet.”

They trained all afternoon. The long swathe of clouds never seemed to dissipate, but William found the cold air invigorating once he'd started his spells. Fire sizzled, lightning snapped, and sparks of something even greater started to materialize as he willed the magical forces into existence.

“Remember, it’s not _just_ the tone of voice,” Mathers shouted from across the field. A veritable lightning storm conjured up between them as his mentor recited a short chant.

“Protect!” William’s hand shot into the air and a clear barrier blocked the threatening bolts.

“Ah, it’s already getting stronger if it can resist lightning.” Mathers chuckled. The cold air didn’t seem to bother him although he wore his usual trappings.

William was quick to block the other bolt that escaped Mathers’ index finger at that moment. 

"You're getting better at your reaction time. Have you been exercising recently?" 

Something turned in William's stomach. He didn't feel like telling Mathers what had happened to him. He hated thinking about someone else controlling his body, whether it was Heaven or Solomon. He sent up a spark for that exact reason and fire bloomed around Mathers. It looked like the man would be engulfed and roasted, but as the flames disappeared, Mathers flashed a grin that was entirely in one piece. 

"Not bad." He hardly sounded perturbed that his student had almost killed him.

From the dorm's rooftop, two demons watched William and the suspicious man.

“What did you tell him?” Sitri asked, eyeing William. Fire erupted from the boy’s fingertips. It didn't yield as much as Dantalion's power, but it was enough to make the magician strike up a spell to avoid it.

“Almost everything. Except when he attacked us and when we were… imprisoned.” Dantalion weighed the odds of telling William the two missing details, but couldn’t imagine himself doing so. He’d already had trouble erasing those soulless green eyes from his memory. “Why? You think we should tell him?”

“No,” Sitri held a hand to the wound under his shoulder. “He doesn’t need to know.”

* * *

The day’s exercises were a welcome surprise, but also an exhausting one. Mathers had finally released him, probably because he’d worked up a considerable sweat despite the freezing air. The sky was darker now, but William couldn’t tell if it was because of a coming storm or because night was creeping over the hills.

He hurried back to his dorm before he could be caught in it. The slimy, grubby feeling of working up a sweat finally caught up with him when he entered the dormitory. He’d have preferred to change his clothes immediately, but it appeared Sean had other ideas.

“Master! I have something to tell you.” The boy came up to him in the hall, bright eyes wide with an innocent sort of urgency. 

“I suppose it can’t wait, can it?” He hadn’t meant to grumble, but he disliked the feeling of sweat clinging to his skin and clothing.

The boy blinked. Those brown eyes reminded William of a well-aged brandy, the kind that burns going down but sits warm in the belly afterward.

William sighed. “No, I suppose it can’t.”

He was led into the common room, the boy practically taking his hand. Not more than four students occupied the room, probably the results of traveling parents. William and Sean took their customary seats on the sofas, facing each other.

“The thing is…,” Sean began. There was a tinge in his voice that William had never heard the boy use before. It sounded remorseful, and strangely, resolute. “I can’t stay.” He looked away.

William considered this. “Well, that’s perfectly all right. I’ll manage by myself here, I suppose.” He stretched on the sofa. He wished he had some tea to sip on. “See to it that you keep up with your studies during the break.”

Sean cleared his throat. “That’s not exactly what I meant.” A frown played at his lips.

“What do you mean?”

“I have to go back home.” Sean laced his fingers together. “I don’t know when I’ll be back.” He held his fingers together tightly, and William feared that boy would crack his knuckles.

Because of this, he tried to hide his sudden surprise. “Ah, I see. Well I…” The way he felt earlier about Kevin started to surge up and he had to slap his knees to keep his emotions from overwhelming him. “I do mean that you keep up with your studies. It’s very important you know.”

“Oh, master!” Sean sprung from his seat and groped William around the shoulders. “I wanted to tell you before I left. I’m glad you’re not too mad.”

He wasn’t mad, aside from the hugging part. “Yes, well, do take care,” he said while patting the boy’s arm and trying to shirk away from him.

Sean gave him one last squeeze before letting him go.

“Goodbye, Master!” The boy waved and left the room. It was all very sudden, William concluded. He could guess why the boy had gone so urgently—hadn’t he said something about his grandfather being ill?—but he couldn’t guess why Sean simply hadn’t written him a letter. It was as if he had held out until William returned to tell him the message, as if he needed his approval to leave.

William leaned back. He was certainly a bright boy. Not bright in the smart sense (though William supposed he did all right in that regard), but bright in the way that makes a room shine and a gray day turn lighter.

“He certainly left in a hurry,” came a voice from beside him, snapping him out of his thoughts.

William nearly yelped when he heard it, flinging himself around to see who had joined him on the sofa.

“Sitri! You—how long have you been here?” It only felt like a few days ago since Sitri had done the exact same thing, appearing out of thin air and joining them for tea. It almost felt like things were back to normal. 

“Long enough.”

“Well, um, yes,” William said, trying to regain his composure. “I’m sorry to see him go like this.”

Sitri gave no reaction to speak of, and William thought it best to change the subject.

“So I guess I owe you a thank you for helping me.” Although he felt a bit silly thanking someone for something he couldn’t remember, he also felt he was obliged to. It was good courtesy and he'd hardly seen Sitri since he'd returned.

Sitri smiled softly. “You know I’d do anything for you, William.”

“And teaming up with Dantalion. Perhaps I can expect to pass this winter break in peace?”

“I’d like that, too.”

To his surprise, Sitri got up and left as well. William sat there alone on the sofa, his mind unable to focus. A pining of regret tugged at his chest, but he had no idea where it had come from nor how to get rid of it.

* * *

The sky had darkened when he returned to his room. He placed his mail on the desk and changed his clothes. Just when he was about to sit on the bed, he noticed an envelope on the floor. Thinking he had dropped it, he went over to it and picked it up. However, this one did not look like the others; it bore no name or address. Curious, he opened it.

_Young Master,_

The font was a familiar one and his heart started to beat quickly.

_Please forgive me for not contacting you sooner. As you may be aware, the situation in Heaven has changed and it is no longer safe for me to be by your side. Rest assured, I am all right and somewhere out of their reach, for now at least. If you ever need anything, please tell those who you trust._

_I hope to return to your side soon._

There was no signature.

William almost let out a cry when he read the letter. Kevin was all right, at least all right enough to write a letter and get it to him. Still, the worry he'd felt earlier ate away at him. Where was Kevin now? And who did he mean when he said  _those who you trust_? Did that mean he wouldn't be able to see him again for a long while? Reading the letter over only left him with more questions. 

Sighing, he spread himself out on the bed, the letter like a paper sail on his chest. They all risked so much for him and William doubted it was less about him being the elector or even Solomon’s decedent. The demons and Kevin protected him because he was William and, against angels and demons, he couldn’t really defend himself. That irritated him.

He rolled over, the letter falling onto the floor. He’d need to become stronger, for all their sakes.

* * *

William woke up in his bed. He couldn't remember falling asleep, but somehow he was tucked under the blankets and his shoes were off. As his eyes adjusted to the room, he got the subtle feeling that someone else was there, watching him. He tried listening closely, but he could only hear what sounded like rain battering against the roof and window. He almost remained there, tucked in the warmth of his blankets, but curiosity soon got the better of him. 

Sitting up, he realized it was past dawn. A wan light spread across the room, illuminating its other occupant. 

"Dantalion?" 

The demon blinked. 

"How long have you been here?" 

"The whole night. We don't know if Heaven will try their tricks again." At another time, that answer might have infuriated William, but now he felt calm. Grateful, even. He walked over to Dantalion, unsure of what to say. 

Then the words came. Just as they were. "Why do you do that?"

"William?"

"Why do you all do that? Why are you always protecting me?" His voice sounded small, too small to stand up against the trials his life threw at him. "You saved me. You and Kevin are _always_ saving me." Sitri and Camio, too. Even Isaac, in his own way. Did he really deserve it all? He wondered how long it had been since the demons had stopped seeing him as just their elector. What had changed? Or was it _him_ who had changed? 

"I guess I've been waiting for the answer. For a long time now." He didn't understand it, but he couldn't face Dantalion now, as if just looking into those eyes would devour him.

In that moment, he felt Dantalion grab his hand. His grip was strong and fierce and might never have let him go. William looked up, and it was true, he was devoured.

The rain lashed at the windows, vicious assaults on the panes of glass. But in that thundering quiet, it was as if the rain and the windows and the bare, winter light sheltered them in a world only as big as the room they were standing in. William balanced on his toes and rose to Dantalion’s lips. “I’m done waiting.” The rain did not stop. It poured down in rivulets and fogged up the glass. A chill whispered through the room, but William shivered for a different reason. Because Dantalion was soft and warm and rough and wild and all the things he would never be. Because Dantalion’s hands fumbled at the ribbon around his neck until it made the high-pitched giggle of coming undone. And William thought he would also come undone. That he didn’t mind it if he did. That he didn’t mind if it was Dantalion who had made him. That he was tired of waiting. 

* * *

Sitri took a bite of one of his favorite cookies. The dry snap as he bit into it was a comforting sound, but he soon found the flavor to be bland and unpalatable. Must have gone bad, it is human food after all, he thought, but he couldn't help thinking that that wasn't the case. That there was nothing wrong with the cookie, that instead...

He reached into another box, but found the same stale taste, even as he dug into another and another. None of them had any flavor and he realized he wasn't hungry anymore. He threw the tin to the floor. It was unfair. So unfair.

 _It will continue to eat at your insides until there's nothing left_. Michael's words came echoing through his head, chilling his spine and sending a tremor down his legs. He hid his face in his knees.

It was all the angels' fault. They were the reason he couldn't eat sweets anymore. If they hadn't taken William in the first place, this never would have happened.

But it _had_ happened. He was going to die.

His eyes burned at the realization, his bones felt like they were hollow and a cold chill ran through him. He could already feel it: a slow decay, a sudden weakness and a cold feeling of regret and hopelessness.

At least he had been able to see Solomon's new form, a person who resembled Solomon in no way except for maybe looks. At least one good thing had come of all those years of waiting for a broken promise.

He smiled bitterly.

No more waiting anymore. He would never see her again.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Part Two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this fic so far. I'm thankful to those who have commented and left kudos as well. I started writing this a year and a half ago, so sorry for the inconsistencies it has with the series. I really wanted to see what would happen if the demons somehow managed to get into Heaven, and what it might look like through their eyes. I had a lot of fun with the idea, and I actually ended up merging another fic I was writing with this one. This is the half-way point plot-wise, so I hope you'll enjoy the rest of it.

What Michael waited for Metatron to ask him was why he hadn’t chosen him as his successor. But Metatron never asked questions. At least, not the sort that Michael wanted him to ask. He always asked those stupid, vapid questions about his day and if he liked that new pillow he’d gotten him, but never _those_ questions. Michael felt a bit afraid, a bit relieved, that Metatron never asked _those_ kinds of questions. _Why didn’t you choose me? Why not me?_ And Michael breathed a sigh of relief at that, because he wouldn’t have known what to do if Metatron had asked _that_.

Metatron smiled at him from across the table now. A pile of sweets on a delicate looking plate stood before him, but Michael made no indication that he would so much as pick at it.

“You’re not going to eat?” Metatron's grin seemed too enormous, too good-natured, for his face.

Michael sighed, pushing the plate to the middle of the table and plunging his head down. The tablecloth was stiff and smooth against his cheek. “No, I’m not hungry.”

“You’re tired, aren’t you?”

Michael didn’t respond. He heard the clinking of the china as Metatron lifted something. Something slid and he smelled the heady scent of strawberries in the summer.

“No, it’s not that.” 

“Well, it won’t help if you don’t tell me what it is.”

He pulled himself up and stared at Metatron through scrutinizing eyes.

“You won’t betray me, will you, Metatron?”

Metatron swallowed whatever his cheeks were stuffed with. “Of course not. What gave you that idea?”

“I don’t know.” He lifted his feet up and locked his arms around his knees. He felt smaller then. Nothing like the Prince of Heaven that he proclaimed himself to be. “Sometimes thoughts come into my head and I don’t know where they come from.”

“Well, even you realize how silly that sounds. Sometimes we can’t believe people, not even ourselves.”

Michael ran his fingers through his hair. He liked to do that when nobody was looking. He marveled how every strand always fell exactly back into place. “Why do you think we exist, Metatron?”

He could practically feel Metatron quirking an eyebrow. “Is this another silly thought of yours, or something you genuinely want answered?”

“I don’t know,” he repeated, running his fingers through his hair again. Like magic, it fell back into place. “It feels like if humans didn’t believe in us, we wouldn’t exist.” He smirked darkly. “What kind of beings are we, then, if we are always at the mercy of humans?”

He hadn’t even realized that Metatron had gotten up, but he suddenly felt arms around him, clutching his chest in a firm but warm embrace. “Are you sad, Michael, that Uriel and Raguel betrayed you?” It didn’t sound like Metatron’s voice then. It sounded like something from his own head.

Michael’s hand found its way to his chest, and he held it there, forming a fist. Metatron's arms were warm against it. “Not sad exactly. It was a long time coming. I had a long time to prevent it, but I only accelerated it. Actually, I think I started it in the first place.” He wanted to sink into that embrace, but he didn’t know why. Suddenly, Heaven and angels and Lucifer felt like too much. He wanted them all to go away so he could disappear into those warm, solid arms.

“Are you lonely, Michael?” The words stung.

He stood up abruptly, breaking out of the embrace. “G-get away from me, human.” He shook, not sounding strong at all. 

“Michael, I only—“

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” His voice screeched, carrying itself along the ceiling and columns.

“I… can’t do that.” Metatron stepped closer. His arms were crossed. His smile was warm. It was everything Michael wanted to believe, but couldn't. 

Still, there was something in Michael that craved that sort of comfort. He wanted the world to blink out, just a for a few seconds. He wanted to be undisturbed in the unyielding vacuousness of insipid mortals.

“What do you want?" The supple pads of his feet felt steadier now and Metatron’s presence didn’t feel like it would suffocate him any longer.

"You." It was a simple answer, so simple it had to be the truth. 

Metatron did not leave for a very long while after that. Michael was good at ignoring him, going through his routines as Heaven’s leader without taking notice of the tagalong. Only when he needed to make side comments did he refer to the angel, who would follow it up with a witty observation of his own. 

He felt oddly empty when Metatron finally took leave of him, even when his presence was replaced with that of the giant’s shortly after.

“And where have you been all this time?” he asked, aware that his usually sneering voice hid an inexplicable emptiness. The question wasn’t just to hide his sudden distress, however. Sandalphon had been absent since Uriel’s rebellion.

“Overseeing the prisoners.” It was a short and curt answer and gave nothing away. “Would you like to see them, my lord?”

Michael considered this. He didn’t want to see Uriel half as much as he wanted to hear him scream. And what had he to make of Raguel? The archangel’s betrayal and admission to helping the demons into Heaven was the bigger shock. But, Michael surmised, Raugel had always been faithful to Uriel, even after his demotion. Perhaps that should have told him something. He'd acted too late, and now two angels were soon to fall. 

“Master Michael?”

Michael blinked. He’d become lost in his thoughts and the towering figure of the giant seemed genuinely concerned. The thought of torturing Uriel felt strangely tiring all of a sudden. There was no longer any use in it, he supposed.

“No, that’s all right,” he assured, not wanting to be the center of Sandalphon's worry anymore. “I trust you’re doing all in your power to punish them.”

“Certainly, my lord.”

Michael left it at that and proceeded to the training field. New guards would have to be replaced for those he’d lost in the battle against the traitors. He figured Zachariel would not mind providing a list of promising angels to join their ranks. Most alarming was Jeanne’s army, however. The caverns below still held the thick scent of blood and fire.

His hand tightened into a fist. Instead of squeezing his brother’s neck, he now had new visions of crushing that smirking Dantalion’s face. If only Solomon’s vessel had stabbed Dantalion instead of Sitri. He’d meant for that to happen, yet could make no sense of why it had been that malleable little puppet instead.

He began to walk faster across the field and finally stood before the barracks. Oddly featureless stonework made up its facade, which stood out amongst the lavish statuary and sprawling gardens of his territory. He entered into its rich shadows and felt the glum austerity of its occupants. Michael walked silently, without the usual decor that his title afforded him.

He wove into the structure and found her on a simple shelf carved out of the wall. Her eyes did not open, not even when he came close.

“Jeanne.” He spoke softly, in a tone that most had never heard him use.

Jeanne’s eyes opened at his voice, revealing the pale light of her eyes. “Y-Your Holiness."  

In the earlier days, he could have healed her in an instant. Now, his dwindling powers kept him from expending too much all at once.

“Has Raphael come to see you?”

“Y-yes. Master Raphael has been very helpful.” The last words came out as a tortured strain.

“Rest well, my dear,” he said, putting a hand on her forehead. “There is still much to be done.”

“Y-yes, Your Holiness.” There was no magic in his palm but he felt the girl fall into a heavy sleep, the tight brow going limp under his fingertips. Michael stayed staring. He felt no guilt. He felt no sadness. He felt as he had always felt-the loneliness of duty and the consuming flames of vengeance creeping in at him from all directions. 

He left the barracks shortly after that, unwilling to admit that the place felt like a tomb. Instead, he stared at the looming tower ahead. Uriel's actions were still hot across his heart, like a scratch that drew blood. Michael rubbed his temples. He hadn’t lied to Jeanne when he’d said there was still much to be done. The craters from the battle still left imprints in his territory, but he didn’t want to think about rebuilding the city and all the resources it would cost at that moment. He guided himself toward the grand avenue that led to his tower and then veered left. On a small side street, he came to a pair of doors. They were as beautiful as they were nondescript, outlined in silver and gold.

“Wait outside. Or do what you want, I don’t care,” he instructed the giant. The doors opened as he stepped inside and shut behind him with a prompt _snap_. He crossed the simple foyer into a hall with four indistinct doorways and stopped in front of the second one on the left. This one, too, opened for him without his prompting. He walked in and it shut instantly. At once, he was plunged into darkness. He waited, barely moving.

Then a dim light lit up somewhere below followed by another and another. Within seconds, the whole staircase gleamed with light. It twisted along the handrails, sending flecks of illumination onto the steps. He descended the staircase, his bare feet sticking to the cool marble.

An angel in a simple smock greeted him at the bottom. “Master Michael.” He bowed and led him into the workroom. Racks of metal lined the walls and the worktables had neat piles of tools and materials, the perfect balance of elegance and utilitarian. The angels silently worked and Michael's ears heard only the tinkling of metal and the occasional tinge of magic.

“Your theory was correct, Master.” The angel in the smock said. He presented the blade on his flat palms. It was no longer in the state he had brought it in,  plain and ordinary. It gleamed with stars like it predecessor, but now shades of reds and purples teemed through it. “The demon’s blood tainted the magic. We’ve restored it and changed the potency of the spells. It should last, even if it is plunged into a demon’s heart.”

Michael admired the sparkling dagger. New visions swam in his mind: his brother’s heart upon the blade and, next to it, that annoying Dantalion’s head.

“How quickly can we supply these to an army?” The angel gave him a sly smile and alerted his workers to pick up the pace. Magic and steel flashed and Michael left feeling lighter than when he’d come.

It seemed the giant had taken his advice because when he popped out of the door he met an empty alley. The smile didn’t leave, even as he walked back to the tower, feet practically tiptoeing to a hymn only he could hear.

* * *

Early the next morning, William found himself shaking off the cold in the school yard. The air was crisp without much of a breeze, and it seemed almost like something from a magic spell that the sun was out. All the raining from the previous day had turned the snow into puddles. The limp grass sparkled in the sun, almost addictive in its power to captivate.

He studied a grimoire in one hand as he practiced the hand motions in the other. It no longer surprised him when the water droplets came. They played  around his fingertips like children engaged in a frantic game of hide and seek. His fingers and lips moved faster as he concentrated more and the water turned to ice.

It was strange that his fingers felt no colder despite the change. He hypothesized that the temperature had changed only around the water droplets themselves. He would have to test the theory in more earnest later on.

“I see you’ve been studying since yesterday,” a voice rose up behind him. The shock of the surprise made him release the ice so that it fell to the ground as clattering hail.

“C-Count!” William shuddered.

Once again, Mathers showed him a roguish grin. “Up for another round of practice?”

William held the grimoire firmly at his side and faced his mentor. “Actually there’s something I need to ask you. I want to begin the next level of spells.”

Mathers blinked, surprised. Or he tried his best to pretend that he was.

“The next level? You sure?” Mathers’ gaping mouth told William that he was definitely pretending.

“If I am to stand any sort of chance against both angels and demons, I’ll need to advance in my studies.” He hoped the look of determination in his face was getting through to the man. “So far, Isaac and I have been restricted to elemental and summoning type spells. I want to explore the possibilities of other magics, but I need to become stronger.”

Mathers seemed to get the point. Before William knew it, they were at the practice field (really just a clearing behind the trees) and Mathers was instructing him how to concentrate deeply.

William shut his eyes and tried to empty the static noise of his mind. It was a difficult exercise—he was always thinking—but he finally managed to achieve a deep, silent, darkness without falling asleep.

That’s when he felt something drop onto his lap. He nearly sprung up from the surprise. Opening his eyes, he found a new grimoire between his knees.

“Ignorance is the curse of God; knowledge is the wing wherewith we fly to heaven,” Mathers said. “Or rather, how we defeat Heaven.” William greedily flipped through the tome, the familiar feeling of paper brushing across his fingertips. When he was fairly confident that he mastered a particular spell, he rose.

Again he stood with a tome in one hand and his hand free in the other. The water came as he recited the incantation, and turned to ice with a few strokes of the hand. When he was sure had enough control over it, he recited the new incantation.

Before he could get the last word out, he was propelled backward with a force that knocked the breath out of him. Light danced on his eyelids as he reeled from the pounding. He coughed, getting the breath back in and rolled onto his side. Mathers had come over by the time William opened his eyes.

“Wh-what just happened?” William gasped.

“That’s what I’d hoped you’d tell me.” 

He sat up, trying to recollect his thoughts. The first spell had worked. Only when he tried to layer it with the new spell had things gone wrong. “Maybe I messed up on the pronunciation." 

He stood and tried the spell again. Once again, a blast sent him reeling backward. This time he was prepared and he landed on his elbows. Mathers came back as he tried to rein his thoughts in. “I couldn’t have messed up twice, could I?”

Mathers shrugged.

William tried again and again. Each time he met the same result. Finally, Mathers felt so sorry for him he cast a barrier so he’d hit that instead of the ground. It mattered little, however. The breath was still knocked out of him and he still landed on the ground. By the fifth time he was too dizzy and disheartened to try again.

“Why don’t you call it a day? I’ll give some thought to your…predicament.” Mather’s cupped his chin to show that he was thinking, but to William it looked like the man was trying hard to hide his chuckling.

William spent the remainder of the day pecking at school food and loitering in the library. He tried to make headway with his studies, but the earlier failure still weighed on his mind like a rowboat filled to the brim with rocks and underclassmen.

A fine mist perforated the windows by the time he returned to the headmaster’s dorm. He felt exhausted, but he still stood in his dorm, deciding what to do with the precious hours before dark.

But of course, all was lost when Dantalion walked through the door, a sack bulging with clothes slung on his side.

They’d decided that Dantalion should stay in his bedroom. His room mate would not be back any time soon and it was easier for the demon to keep a watchful eye on him here than from a few floors above. It made sense, of course, although William still blushed at the idea.

“I changed in my old room before I came. I know you British are rather conservative when it comes to nudity,” he said, throwing the sack on his bed.

Not that what he said mattered; the morning before had been a lesson of Roman sculpture, Dantalion charitably demonstrating the aesthetic with his body. Now he wore a loose fitting night shirt, the unbuttoned collar giving a generous view of his chest.

“Thank you,” William managed, half-gripped by something he didn’t want to admit.

Dantalion dumped himself on the empty bed and used the sack as an extra pillow. Springing his arms behind his head, he looked every bit the idyllic Greek youth that had so captivated the Renaissance sculptors. William felt his cheeks flushing and had to turn around in fear of being caught with a look of abject admiration.

“S-so,” he began. It’d been years since had any semblance of a room mate, but casual chit chat seemed like the best way to break up the awkwardness. “Tell me more about Michael’s library.”

The blush sufficiently restrained, he now turned back to Dantalion, whose eyebrow quirked at the mention of the angel’s name.

“Michael’s library? Why would you want to know about that?”

“I was just interested in it, that’s all.” Dantalion’s intense, almost leering, gaze was making William's blush come back with galloping force.

“Well, we weren’t reading the books so much as throwing them.” If Dantalion noticed William’s blush, he didn’t say a word about it. Instead, he launched into another vein of the topic. “Now Hell has some books that would put your human libraries to shame, and probably the humans that run them, too.”

“Believe me, I’ve seen my share of books with yellow jackets.”

Dantalion hummed a chuckle and rested on his side. The pose afforded William a full view of his shirt opening and his eyes naughtily trailed down to his belly.

“Really? The exceptional William Twining is a connoisseur of such vile literature?”

This time William made no attempt to hide his blush. “Of course not! As a prefect, it was my duty to confiscate any literature deemed too sensational.”

“Of course.” Dantalion gave a half-grin and William wanted to launch one of those so-called sensational books right at his face.

“A-anyway, tell me about the libraries in Hell, although if you’re hinting that they’re full of yellow books, please just leave it at that.”

Of course, their conversation had another motive: William listened closely for any hint of a book with suggestions on how to overcome his recent magical complications.

* * *

In the grand meeting chamber, in the center of a crowd of stainless marble archways, Azrael stiffened. The bookish angel was usually not very emotive and saved his visible duress to express consternation over particularly hard mathematics formulas, so even the small twitch of his spine straightening was a great surprise for all who witnessed it.

Or it would have been, if Raziel’s fist had not slammed on the table right there, voice booming, “HE'LL GET US ALL FALLEN!” 

Azrael would have reminded him to keep his voice down—that it was a secret meeting after all—but he dreaded that fist coming down on anything other than the furniture in the sparse room.

“And Michael will get us killed.” Zacharael knew how to keep his cool-headedness, much to Raziel’s dismay.

“Don’t you care? Don’t you see how thin he’s worn us?” Raziel made a show of scanning the round table. Besides the three of them, the seats were empty and there was even an empty space across from him. Raguel’s seat had stood there merely days before. He guessed it had been summarily disposed of after the rebellion.

Raziel ground his teeth. “We could be next.”

“If Michael were truly out to get us, we’d know it before he even uttered an order. Sandalphon’s as good as our spy.”

“ _Metatron’s_ spy, and we don’t know what he’s thinking.”

“Who? Metatron or Sandalphon?”

“The both of them!” For that one, Azrael would definitely have to agree. It was not just the giant’s height that encouraged respect. Most of them had hardly heard him speak two words in the hundreds of years since he’d come to Heaven.

Metatron was a different story. He’d roamed Heaven’s halls like an honored guest, exulted and proud. But, like a foreign dignitary from a cursed land, few could call him a close friend or confidant. Even after he’d been venerated as an archangel, the society he kept was amazingly scant. Many had tried to incur his favor, but his taste for politics seemed so disparate from theirs, most ceased all ties with him within the first twenty years of his appointment to the round table. Even now, the chronically late Metatron was an enigma at their meetings, giving his honest opinion on Hell and canonizations, all the while never revealing what he was truly thinking.

Which was why it surprised Azrael that they’d reached this point in Metatron’s plan and had put their trust in a former human. They’d supported him and had even sped along the process of Uriel’s revolt and the waning of Michael’s armies. Jeanne was indisposed, and now nothing stood between them and Michael except a few hundred guards and a gleaming, golden sword.

Azrael’s realization seemed to transfer across the room. Raziel gripped the table like he planned to take chunk from it. On the opposite end, Zachariel mounted his face atop his hand, poised and perturbed strangely mixing into one. It was a stalemate in all but name.

He shifted his glasses with his thumb, guessing it was his turn to weigh in on matters, although he hardly thought what good it would do. He coughed a few times and laced his fingers together, wishing his observations could simply speak for themselves.

“I think we can trust Metatron and Sandalphon… to an extent.” The others shot him a look, eyes wider now but not quite won.

He cleared his throat and continued. “Metatron has had many chances to oust us to Michael, but he’s kept silent about all this.”

“Of course he would.” Raziel threw up a hand. “He’s the ringleader.”

“Hold on. Let me finish.” Azrael took a moment to gather his thoughts. “Metatron’s had many chances to say who’s betraying Michael, but so far he’s not even hinted at us. Michael, as distrustful as he is, suspects nothing from us—and that’s a good thing. I think we’re safe as long as Metatron continues on with his plan and doesn’t run into any snags on the way. I’ve also been giving it some thought, and I think perhaps Uriel and Raguel’s defeats might have been the final push Metatron needed to get Michael to fully trust him.”

Zachariel nodded calmly, as if to show his acceptance of the theory. Raziel’s eyes reflected a mote of understanding.

“So he trusts Metatron. That’s still only a tiny part of the grand plan, and doesn’t exempt us from being betrayed by either of them.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Zachariel answered for him, “but he’s forced Michael into an extremely vulnerable state and that will reap its own rewards.”

Raziel winced. It seemed Zachariel’s casual air regarding such perfidious notions did not go unnoticed.

“It doesn’t look like Michael’s been convinced to take a rest any time soon.”

“No, I didn’t mean that.” Zachariel leaned forward, so that they could follow every nuance of his disturbingly dark, turbid eyes. “I meant that Michael will be weary of more traitors in his midst.”

“That doesn’t leave us in a very good position.”

“What if it did?” They followed Zachariel’s eyes to the empty seat between them.

Azrael wondered briefly if perhaps Zachariel should have fallen with Lucifer. No, he thought to himself, amending the thought in his head. The angel was much too clever for that.

* * *

For the first time since planning to overthrow Michael, Metatron was anxious. He fumbled with the needle and thread, creating uncharacteristically clumsy stitches on the garment.

“A cosplay?” Sandalphon had walked in some moments ago, but the two had long ago given up formalities with each other. They'd lived together for centuries and there was no need for pleasantries anymore.

“Yep,” Metatron said, breaking the thread with his teeth. He held the coat before him, admiring its detail. “What do you think?”

“It’s black,” Sandalphon observed, although it was hard to tell if he was making a critique on Metatron’s taste or the outfit itself.

“I hope so. I had this material specially ordered from a contact in the human world.” He hummed to himself, carefully tucking the new attire under his arm and trying to think of a closet that was not yet full of his creations.

“And how is our dear Prince of Heaven?”

“He’s worried. About Jeanne.” It came out as two distinct sentences. Or grunts.

“Hasn’t Michael learned from putting our precious sisters in charge of the military?”

No answer came as Metatron tucked away his newest creation. “Oh I almost forgot!” he said, rushing back to the table and unearthing a globule of an unnerving hue. He played with it in his hand, shining the smooth surface with his sleeve. "I'm kind of nervous actually. I never attempted a cosplay like this before." The voice didn't sound nervous. It sounded excited and giddy. 

Only Sandalphon knew the truth: that Metatron was every bit the child he pretended to be at Stratford.


	12. Chapter 12

“Allergic to magic!?” William balked over the rose-hip tea. “Why would _I_ be allergic to magic?”

Mathers made a play of rubbing his chin, but there was no great curiosity playing behind his enigmatic blue eyes. “Not sure. I’ve never encountered such a thing before.”

The answer was no great condolence to Willam. He mulled over it like he would a complicated theorem, combing over his mind for solutions, but none came untangled  from his cerebral milieu. Instead, he studied the books in Mathers’ office. They all seemed rather ordinary for a Stratford Master, but he sensed that half the tomes were hoaxes, hollowed out books that hid an impressive collection of grimoires. 

“But you’ve had other apprentices before right?”

“Oh yes.” Mathers closed his eyes. “A handful of them. Most of them are traveling abroad now.”

“Perhaps they might know something.”

“Perhaps,” Mathers echoed. “I’ll send off some letters.”

Some days passed and William fretted at the peaceful relaxation he was meant to endure. He was off spells until a response came, and he'd studied so much for his exams that he could recite the content backwards. He did a terrible job of avoiding Dantalion, perhaps on purpose, although his new room mate seemed to understand the value of giving him distance. He once caught Sitri nodding off in an arm chair in the common room, but once again, the demon didn’t seem all that talkative and their conversations withered into nothing with despondent salutations and comments about the room's temperature. In those moments, William caught hints of the cold boy Sitri had been when he’d first come, saccharine smiles without a hint of genuineness. William blamed it on the boring, drab days and their dwindling social circle. Even the things that should have entertained William, such as treatises and theories, were dull when compared to the predicament he faced.

So it came as some relief when Mathers appeared on a particularly grimy morning, flashing a letter between his slender fingers.

“Rosamund Layton?” William observed, handling the letter. The script was thick and curling and the parchment was practically brimming with a thick, heady perfume. It seemed more akin to a love letter than a correspondence between master and apprentice.

“A young widow,” Mathers grinned, that same far off look in his eyes that William didn’t think he was old enough to imitate. “She and her son inherited quite a bit of money when her husband died. Magic seems dull when one has all the money they could ever want, I suppose.”

William simply nodded, hoping Mathers hadn’t taught his apprentices anything unsavory. His eyes concentrated on the letter itself.

_My dearest master,_

_You would not have believed my excitement when I saw your letter in the post. My chest heaved in excitement and I shudder to tell you how my feet almost tripped on the way to my writing desk to answer a reply. How elated I was that…_

William scanned the letter, hoping not to catch any more references to Lady Layton’s chest.

_It does sound like a curious thing that your young apprentice should be suffering from a mild… allergy to magic you said? Although mistakes do happen when magic is involved—I can attest to that—the events you described might be part of some sort of pattern, perhaps even an amalgamation of patterns! It might behoove this young apprentice of yours to note each reaction down to the smallest detail. Since it seems to happen when higher-level spells come into play, he should look for the specific strand that is throwing the whole thing off. At least, that would be my advice._

_But really, master, my bosom screamed with glee when…_

There it was again. William passed the letter back to Mathers.

“She seems to think that there’s a pattern caused by one particular source.” William searched his mind. “Could the grimoire be off?”

“That’s always a possibility,” Mathers said, “but I’ve had no problems with the book personally.”

William bit his lip. It was frustrating not knowing the answer, but at the same time, he loved a good mystery. He wished he could go right outside and take up practicing again, but the weather showed no signs of clearing up.

He crossed his arms. It was was time to tell Mathers the truth, or some version of it at least.

“The truth is, I was recently abducted by some supernatural beings. It was rather unpleasant, I was told, though I don’t remember any of it. I’ve been trying to learn these spells in order to prevent that from happening again. I also dislike the thought of those close to me getting involved.” It came out clipped and pedantic-sounding, but all that mattered to William was that he didn’t sound as troubled as he truly was about it.

Mathers parted his lips as if to speak, but then caught himself in an understanding grin. “I see. So the spells are for more than just self-preservation, is that it?”

“Well, somewhat.” It was getting difficult to talk now, although he couldn’t begin to think of a reason why. “I thought if I pushed myself to do a little more training, I’d be—” He realized his throat had gone heavy. “I’d be able to hold my own by myself.”

“Hmm…” Mathers’ foxlike grin gave nothing away.

William gave him a quizzical look. “What are you thinking about?”

“I think I might see a sort of pattern, that’s all.” He chuckled and William didn’t feel like asking what was so funny.

* * *

The days rolled by ominously slow. The holidays passed and school would came back into session soon and William smiled at Dantalion more. Sitri trudged around the halls, listlessly going through his routine. The tin under his arm had a semblance of reality, although it was empty. And so, he felt, was he.

Something made him pause as he passed an icy window. There was something off about the usual gaggle of students assembled in the school yard. Something that gave warmth to the perpetually dreary mood of the students who had been left at school during the holidays.

His curiosity, for once, outweighed his pain. He went outside to investigate.

There, in the middle of the crowd, a boy with hair and eyes tinted scarlet, was telling stories about Germany and France.

“S-Sean?”

“Sitri! I was hoping I could talk to you!” The crowd parted for him and disappeared back into the dorm, as if all the warmth around them had suddenly vanished.

“You’re back?”

“Not quite.” The boy pinched his lips together. “I came to see you.”

At first, the answer didn't make sense. “What for?”

“I wanted to tell you…” the boy squirmed where he was standing.

“You should go back home, Sean,” Sitri said. His irritation was rising. He started to walk away and stumbled.

“Hey, are you okay?”

He wanted to lie. Instead, he said nothing. He tried to walk away again, but he turned too sharply and slipped on the wet ground. His shoulder instantly felt the pain, hard and raw as it dug deeper into his arm and chest.

Sean was at his side in another moment, helping him up, eyes filled with a pining worry.

“Is something wrong?”

Sitri looked down. The grays and browns of the winter ground mixed together. “It’s…” He bit his lip. What good would come of telling Sean the truth? A human could not fix this. He doubted even Heaven could.

“Do you need some medicine?”

“No…”

Sean helped him rise to his feet. He felt the boy shake and wondered if his pain had somehow transferred to him. A quick look at his face revealed the contrary; Sean was giggling. “I guess it finally happened, huh? You finally got sick.”

Sitri paled, the conversation from all those days ago coming back. He’d been a different person then.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.” Just then, Sean’s face came close. Something strange and familiar rippled through Sitri, and he knew it was impossible to pull away. Sean's lips brushed his own and a prickling warmth scoured the emptiness in the pit of his stomach. Pain and fear were gone in an instant, replaced with something that was teeming with light.

Then it was gone and the pain came rushing back with a vengeance. Sitri lurched in his arms and wondered why they didn’t both fall over. He took a few breaths, and the pain leveled out. It was still there, a bitter, pulsing throb, but it no longer felt like the world was about to tip over. Sitri steadied himself in Sean’s arms until he was ready to break away.

“Why are you doing this, Sean?” The words were breathless and he knew the pain wasn’t to blame.

“I guess it’s because I realized I love you.”

A crescendo of regrets seemed to build and build. This one was like the angels, coaxing him to Heaven with hollow words.

Sean must have been able to read the pain in his face because his next words were soft and echoing with warmth. “I need to go now. Don't forget what I said." 

He walked some paces off, the puddles splashing against his hurried footsteps. As if hearing some tiny voice in his head, Sean turned around and waved, a big, strong wave that comprised most of his body. Then he was off again, running at a quickened pace, until he was out of sight. 

Sitri stood there in the freezing schoolyard for a long while, watching the first drops of snow cover up the boy's steps.

* * *

Sitri returned from the courtyard feeling weaker than usual. He climbed the stairs, his steps echoing the rhythm of a slow, sad song. Must have been the cold, he thought. It was everywhere, seeping through the walls right down to his bones. His hand clutched the banister, trembling at the unforgiving, hard wood. People rushed past him but he continued his slow pace.

"Are you alright, Cartwright?" One of the boys asked. He looked at him, but his face was blurry, an outline with two black dots for eyes.

"I-I'm fine," he said, trying to pick up the pace. He was out of breath.

"I can assist you to the infirmary," said the blur.

"N-no, I—"

There was loud crash upstairs.

“Quick! Before the Headboy sees!” Someone yelled from above and the blur disappeared.

Sitri stopped on the steps. He no longer knew why he was climbing them. It all seemed so pointless, to go up there where all that noise was. He wanted to be alone, far away alone, in a place where no one would be able to find him.

He turned around steadily and made his way down the stairs. His feet occasionally jolted on the steps. Not just his feet, his hands and legs and arms. Everything felt like it was under a weight, crushed, by a force that knew no other direction but downwards.

There were shouts from upstairs but he couldn't discern them, a cacophony of different sounds all mashing together, an orchestral soup. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he nearly fell out the door.

Outside was bright, too bright. It blinded his eyes and the only place he could make for were the shadows farther off. Achingly, painfully, he crossed the field, feeling all of his organs and muscles revolt against the journey.

When he finally made it to the other side, he found a peaceful spot under the trees. Yes, these were trees, fir trees that still had their leaves. The pain was intense now. He had never felt a pain like this before. It was not the hot searing pain of battle or the painful memories of cessation. This pain was cold, a chill deeper than the air around him.

He lay down and curled up around the base of a tree. It was nice. Not a sound as the cold agony racked through his body. He wanted no one to see him like this. Tears formed around his eyes, not from the pain but because he no longer needed anyone. Not Uncle, not even William. There was nothing he wanted to be but alone.

The sky was dark when he opened his eyes. Strange, he couldn't remember shutting them. He was terribly cold but the pain had become a dull throb. It didn't seem like anything anymore. _He_ didn't seem like anything anymore. All of his memories, more than a hundred human lifetimes, seemed insignificant. Even that one memory, that corrupted memory of his fall, held no emotional impact. He replayed it in his head, over and over, hoping there was something he could latch onto. 

 _Nothing_.

He wanted to sleep. That's all he wanted. Sleep was a great cloud, a warm womb. Something immaterial but thick. Soft as feathers and as light.

Was this how it felt, Solomon? The whole world blacking out and a lonely, suffocating calm. Even the wisest man in the world, must have felt insignificant, his thoughts nothing but fragile, cracking whispers in death's immense hollow.

 _These are my last thoughts,_ he realized. _These are the last things I will ever think._

_I'm scared._

That was the one thing he felt. Fear. Even Uncle seemed like a tiny pinpoint in a sea of stars compared to this all consuming fear.

Sleep covered him. He knew there wasn't much time left. _Quick, a happy thought, something comforting before I blink out of existence._ He pictured William and Camio and even Dantalion, then Uncle how he used to be and then...

The face was a blur but he knew who it was.

_Mo-_

A great and terrible wind rose through the firs, but nothing disturbed the lifeless figure.

* * *

In his bed, William shivered. He knew the cold weather was not to blame for this one; he felt cold on the inside, as if his heart had turned to ice. Slowly, he rose, stamping out the cold as he made his way to Dantalion’s bed.

He hadn’t needed to, however. Dantalion was sitting up, his shoulders lurched at some strange realization.

“Did you feel it too?” William ventured, his voice as soft as a shadow.

Dantalion nodded. He lit a small candle and William could see the sweat traced on his brow.

“What was that?”

Dantalion’s lips trembled as he searched for the right answer. “I don’t know. It was as if a great amount of power was released all at once.” His skin still prickled thinking about it; it must have happened close by to have such an effect on him.

“But what does that mean?”

“I’m not sure.” Dantalion’s eyes were narrow slits illumined by the candle’s slender flame. He’d felt such things in the Hell, shockwaves ripping through him on the battlefield when a powerful demon was slain. It made little sense that he would feel the same thing at Stratford; there were no powerful demons around here except him and—

The door to their room slammed open as Camio swept in with inhuman speed. His expression altered when he saw the both of them. “I trust you felt the same thing I felt.” He directed the question to Dantalion.

“We were discussing that just now.”

The edges of Camio’s lips slanted downward.

“I came to check on William.” He did not dare step farther, but William could feel his disapproval flowing in waves from across the room. “I see he’s been looked after.” His glare seemed to cut across Dantalion’s head.

William thought of the quickest question to break up the tension. “But do we know what caused it?”

“That’s what I want to figure out.” Dantalion hoisted himself up from the bed and strode toward Camio. “Keep an eye on him while I’m gone.” He vanished from the door before Camio could reply.

Without the perceived threat, Camio paced further in and William invited him to sit at the desk. Camio seemed distant, as if his mind were on a great many things besides the present mystery.

“And how have you been fairing without your steward?” At just the mention of that word, William felt guilty. He’d hardly spared a thought to Kevin since reading his letter. Hastily he searched for it, but could not find it on his writing desk, nor on the floor. Finally, he looked under the bed and recovered the slip of paper, now covered in a thin layer of dust. Looking at it again made his heart heavy, so that he had to fold it and tuck it away in his letter drawer. Then he looked at Camio, who had observed the whole process without a question. “I guess you saw all that, didn’t you?”

Camio gave a stiff nod.

William returned to his bed, slouching down to show he was ashamed. Truly he was. The reason it had been so easy to have Dantalion in his room, to admire Dantalion, to kiss Dantalion, was because Kevin wasn’t there.

“I miss him."

The eyebrows on Camio’s forehead rose, but that was as much of a reaction as William received.

“It’s frustrating, not knowing how things will turn out. Or if I’ll ever see him again.”

His discomfiture seemed to finally get through, because Camio put a hand on his knee and reassured him, “I’m sure you’ll see him soon.” Something about his expression gave William the first reason of that night to relax. He did not know it would also be the last.

* * *

Sometimes it felt like he was drowning in deep water. A heavy feeling filled his lungs and the surface blanked out. Darkness surrounded. And in that darkness, teeth.

Then he’d wake up, catching himself in the half-sleep he’d almost abandoned himself to. It scared him to death, that agonizing, painful sleep. It hurt more than his aching limbs, than his empty heart.

Michael sprung awake, breathing hard. They were becoming more frequent _these_ … whatever they were called. He reached a trembling hand on the sofa and helped himself up. The room was still. He honed his powers on the door and then shot a blast of feeling, only enough to make his presence known.

The giant entered.

“W-where’s Metatron?”

“Shall I call for him?”

“N-no, that’s all right.”

The horrible nightmares were dissipating now, and he was almost ashamed to admit he’d called for a human. He buried the shame away, quickly, so that no one would see. 

He liked to think about hate at times like these. He liked to think about how much he hated his brother, how much fun it would be to hack off all those wings with his golden sword. He liked to think about how his sword would turn red, how bloody feathers would stick to his skin, and how his brother wouldn't smile anymore. He was sure that was where the teeth came from in those dreams. Brother's teeth, bright and gleaming and tainted and wicked. He liked to think that he'd stab brother through the heart last, just so they knew it was him that killed the almighty emperor of Hell. And then he'd tuck himself under those hacked off wings, curl up at brother's side, and finally go to sleep.

* * *

William watched the snow swirl from window. He could not remember when it had started snowing again, but each flurry sent a feeling of hopelessness that lodged firmly in his stomach and refused to budge. Camio had gone off in search of more candles, so William was left alone with his wracking worry. 

When Camio returned, he asked what had been on his mind, the knot in his stomach tightening. "You and Dantalion both felt that, didn't you?" 

Camio nodded solemnly. The light in his hand looked like it was shivering. 

"Then why didn't—"

Dantalion came in then. He held something in his arms, a shape that made the knot in William's stomach unravel and turn to dread. Camio stepped aside as Dantalion made for the bed. He lowered Sitri onto it as William looked helplessly on.

"It's the death sleep," he whispered hoarsely. Powder dusted his jacket, which he only now wiped away.

"I hope you were not the cause of it." Camio lowered his head, his eyes unreadable.

"Of course not." It was not the type of response that warranted such imperturbability, but Dantalion spoke without veneer.  

"Wh-what can we do?" William asked.

Dantalion looked down.

"Dantalion, answer me!"

When the he looked up, his eyes were as hard as steel. "Nothing."

"Don't say that!"

William grabbed hold of Sitri's shoulders and started to shake him, but stopped himself. His body was cold. He touched his arm. Like ice.

"B-but why? How could this happen?"

Dantalion didn't answer right away. He looked out the window, into the dark and dizzying winter night, and then down at Sitri. His fingers undid the buttons of his collar and then shrugged the shirt away. Just below the collarbone was a scar glowing white, bright veins spreading out like the root system of a pernicious weed.

"How did he get this? Is this why...?" The scar was unlike anything he had ever seen, a light that pulsated on the pale skin. It glowed brighter than the faint candlelight, brighter, it seemed, than any light humans could possibly create. 

"When we rescued you from Heaven—" 

"So it was the angels!?" William gasped.

Dantalion shifted uncomfortably. “It was—“

His words were interrupted by the footsteps that stopped in the hall. They all turned around. Grand Duke Baalberith stood in the doorway.


	13. Chapter 13

The light in the room did not reach Baalberith's eyes. The visor of his hat cast a shadow as impenetrable as his set jaw.  Still, his eyes seemed to set themselves on the bed. 

 _No!_ William wanted to say. He was shaking. He didn't know why, but he was. 

Camio and Dantalion parted as Baalberith stepped forward, bowing there heads. They spoke no words and a great respect held their tongues, or a fear. 

Suddenly, William flew between them, blocking Baalberith with his arms.

"Y-you can't take him."

Baalberith said nothing. The ends of his lips curved downward and he reached out a gloved hand.

Suddenly, William felt himself being pulled, a movement as quick and light as air. Dantalion's breath was on his ear in another second. "It isn't your place, William," he said in a solemn whisper.

"But..."

Dantalion held him close as Baalberith walked past them. He stood there motionless for a few seconds, hovering over the bed like a thick shadow. William could feel Dantalion hold his breath and the tense thumping of his heart.

Then Baalberith lifted his nephew off the bed, his hands steady and firm, as if he were handling a delicate flower stem. There was something so careful in his movements that for a moment, William didn't think it was Baalberith, the dreaded duke of Hell. He stayed pressed against Dantalion's chest as Baalberith left with Sitri, heavy boots echoing down the hall until they became a faint murmur, then nothing at all.

"So that's it then?" William didn't lift his head. "Sitri's just going to die?"

"It will take some time," Camio said, adjusting his glasses. "The death sleep lasts differently depending on the demon, but the body turns to ashes by the end of it."

William flinched. "But he's just sleeping, right? He can wake up, right?"

"No one's ever awakened from the death sleep," Dantalion said grimly. "That's why it's called that. A demon who falls under it is already dead." At those words, William pushed away.

"Haven't you guys tried to look for a cure?" His voice sounded like it was tight, too big for his throat. "Isn't it possible that he can wake up from it? Maybe you guys just haven't thought of it yet." He grew louder and louder.

The force of William's push had made Dantalion stumble backwards so that he now stood against the wall. There was a resignation in his face, in the way light caught on his glossy hair and narrowed eyes.

Dantalion didn't face him; he looked toward Camio and there was nothing hopeful in the exchange, in the way their eyes exchanged a language they couldn't utter aloud. William's heart felt like it would burst.

"It's possible," Dantalion said to William. "But I don't want to give you false hope. There's nothing any of us can do now." He placed a hand on William's shoulder. "It would be better to accept it and move on."

William stepped away and Dantalion's hand fell slack. "No! There has to be a way! I won't accept it until I can prove it!"

He dashed from the room before either of them could stop him.

Dantalion looked at his hand. It looked like it held all the powers of shadows in that dimly-lit room. He could summon raging infernos at will and tear armies to shreds, but nothing in that hand that could offer comfort to William.

Camio's smoldering eyes turned to him then. "What really happened in Heaven, Dantalion?" The fact that Baalberith had not demanded the same answers of them had bothered him. The duke would mourn first, he thought, then claw his way at vengeance

"I've told you everything."

The leering eyes did not relent.

Dantalion shut his eyes and inhaled. "Sitri did not want William to know about it." He told Camio the story of how they had failed to capture William, of the way the angels had invaded their memories, how William's only comfort now was ignorance.

"This changes the situation in Hell considerably," Camio said after some time had passed. "Duke Baalberith will have to endorse a new candidate. We should also keep a close eye on Heaven. If there are more weapons like the one they used on Sitri, many more demons could be going into the death sleep soon."

"Just… don't tell William." The words came out in snippets. Not a warning. A request. A plea.

"You won't be able to keep it a secret forever, Dantalion." Camio's words were the same as his eyes, harsh and reprimanding. And _cold_. "Besides," he turned to the doorway, "William isn't the one I'm worried about finding out."

Dantalion was soon left alone in he room. A hopeless feeling settled over him as if he were left all alone on an icy battlefield. He disliked this room and the looming feeling of death it held. Just as he was leaving, he experienced a sudden weakness. At first he thought it was the terror that something could kill him at any moment. But then he realized that it was the feeling of loss.

Sitri was gone, wasn't he? That cross expression, those glowering blue eyes. Never again would they argue and fight, vying for William's attention like siblings for a mother's love. Had he really, at some point, began to think of Sitri as a sibling? Was the feeling of loss something like that? The sudden thought terrified him. But it was a certain kind of terror. One that arrested his movements and made his arms weak. The sort of terror that catches one off-guard and burrows its way deep into the heart.

* * *

William felt the tears clinging to his eyes when he closed the door to his old room in Jacob dormitory. It smelled of dust and disuse. It smelled familiar and homey and hopeful. It smelled of a warmth he couldn't hope to regain.

The floorboards protested in tiny squeaks as he made his way to the wash basin. There was no water in it, but he hadn't thought there would be. He stared at his face in the mirror above it. An anguished face stared back at him.

He was mad. He was mad at everyone. He was mad at Dantalion for not caring, at Camio for doing nothing, at Sitri for dying, at Kevin for disappearing. And, most viciously, he was mad at himself. His hands squeezed the basin as he pressed his forehead against the mirror. Its cool surface seemed to stave off the pool of dark thoughts in his head.

He stayed like that for a long time, the chill in the room not quite reaching his furious heart. When he thought his legs would give way to the stiffness, he sunk down under the linen of the bed and slept in his clothes for the rest of the night. He woke bitterly cold the next morning and retucked the linen with trembling fingers.

That day it poured dismally. Curtains of icy rain sailed across Stratford which made the students trekking back for the start of the term especially dreadful-looking. Mud and sleet mixed together into sickly looking lumps around the schoolyard as stage coaches drifted in from the fog. Boys were instructed to change their footwear before coming inside, sometimes foregoing the process altogether to simper around the dorms in stockinged feet. There was a feeling of disarray about the whole day, but also a sense of joy as friends reconnected and troublemakers started pranks.

But William could only look at all of it and feel nothing. His better sense of self was tied up somewhere, somewhere deep that he couldn't get to. He sat in an armchair with a dense book and tried to appear unsociable. It worked surprisingly well, although William Twining was not usually the first student one sought out when one returned from a holiday.

"William! How was your holiday?"

Or not.

Isaac's brilliant red hair invaded his vision as he put the book down. His friend sported a pair of red and orange gingham stockings and no other footwear at all. It all seemed highly improper, but he supposed the prefects had allowed it, if only because of the high volume of mud they wanted to prevent from getting inside.

"I…" William started, but he did not know where to begin, or how it would end if he did begin. He eyed Isaac's gingham socks as if searching for an answer in all of the startling absurdity.

"Please don't say anything about the stockings!" Isaac piped up. "My sister made me wear them. They were a gift and… ah… I protested, I really did but…" He launched into a whole tirade on how his brother and sister had concocted a conspiracy to make him wear the gaudy things. "I mean, no one was supposed to know on account of us usually wearing our shoes inside, but now they've made us take them off—you don't think they're  _too_  bad, do you?"

It was too strange. Isaac talking about socks and the boys messing around and the prefects doing nothing…

"Sitri died," he said, as if that would somehow restrain all the absurdity and guilt he felt.

"I… what?" Isaac's ruddy face paled for a moment. "Did I hear you correctly, William?"

William nodded, and pretended to read a line in his book. He'd forgotten he'd spent the better part of an hour pretending to read the same line.

"That can't be!" Isaac spouted, his eyes panicking, his toes curling in, the color coming back into his cheeks with a savage fierceness.

"It's the death sleep. They… he and Dantalion tried to rescue me from Heaven….. they did, but—"

He couldn't go on. He couldn't believe either of them would die for him. For all he boasted, the pain of someone caring enough to die for him had not truly registered. But of course he couldn't tell Isaac that, or anyone. 

"William! You have to do something!"

"Don't you think I know that?" His head sunk down. "But what can I do? Baalberith took him."

"But it's the death sleep right? He didn't die outright, right? He didn't disappear into dust, right?"

William found himself nodding.

"Then… then… there might still be a chance to save him."

William shook his head. "I've already asked Dantalion and Camio. They've said no one ever wakes from it."

"But did you ask Samael?"

"What's he's got to do with it?"

"He's the warden of Limbo. Maybe he might know something… maybe Sitri's soul is still…." He didn't finish. There was hope in his eyes, a pertinacious sort of hope that might have annoyed William if the situation had not called for anything other than a dogged sense of tenability.

"I…" William floundered for an answer. A new system of plausibility was already firing in his head, along with a gripping sort of enthusiasm. Of course he could ask Samael. Of course there was something he could do about Sitri and the guilt he felt and his lack of magic… of course there was.

"Only I do hope there is something he can do. I'd very much like to say the first demon I summoned is still alive and well…. and…" Isaac said looking down at his hideous socks, "… he's also… sort of my friend."

That was it. That was all it took. William felt anxious and determined again. He snapped his book shut and swept out of the room, almost giddy about telling Camio and Dantalion about his latest plan.

* * *

The scent of flowers still lingered, along with the petals that graced the water's surface. Raphael's robes had become wet, but the water did not bother him.

_There had been no ribbons in Jeanne's hair that day. He remembered the paleness of her face, how her hair had fallen limp against her neck. He remembered the salve, cool in his hands, and the sharp breath she took as he applied it to her stomach._

_"It still hurts, doesn't it?" Raphael asked._

_Her eyes caught on him, the blue thinned out to a tapered azure."I… I'd like to rest, Lord Raphael." Her voice was weak and trembling._

_"I shall tell Michael," he said._

_"No… please… I don't want to worry him. His Holiness is under enough pressure."_

_"But surely he will find out."_

_"He will." She closed her eyes, as if dreaming of the moment. "But by then it will be too late to do anything, or to waste any power on me and this body he has given me." It was the sort of request that weighed hard and long on the mind. Jeanne had probably struggled hard and long against herself to ask such a thing of him._

_"Very well," he'd said._

He'd seen her off, guiding her to Limbo's narrow doorway. Rest could be a terrifying thing for some. It was a darkness so consuming, so overwhelming, almost like death itself. Yet, what was more frightening was waking up. The whole world could change while one rested and no amount of power could prepare one for that.

He knew why Michael refused to rest. He'd always known why. After his brother and Uriel and Gabriel, Raphael was the only one who was left. He was the only one from the old days close to him now. Raphael's heart ached for Michael, for the sadness and the fear that controlled him. And for the fact that Michael's only reaction to this was to push everyone away. 

Tears clung to his eyes and dripped onto the lake, creating ripples that broke across its calm surface. Raphael always felt things more intensely than the other Angels of {resence. Where they'd grown cold and pessimistic, he'd stayed warm and hopeful. Sometimes he thought he was the only one who hadn't changed.

He returned home after the ceremony, feeling drained. Unlike most places in Heaven, his home was small and cramped. One could wonder how he navigated through the shelves crammed with salves and how he managed to avoid the many plants hanging from the ceiling and growing in pots lining the walls. Still, it was a beautiful and pleasant place to visit with light sweeping through from the tall windows. It calmed him to be among his medicines, to feel the earthiness of growing things. 

Looking out the window, he still felt a profound sense of loss. Not so much for Jeanne, but for Michael. He knew how much he loved that girl, like he might love his own child if he had one. Would Michael feel lonely now? 

Perhaps he should have known, then, that they would come for him, but he did not hear their footsteps until it was too late. Guards came rushing in, wings shattering glass and ceramic. He tried to get away from them, but their hands held him and kept him still, tugging at his clothes and hair and wings.

Zachariel, Azrael, and Raziel came through the door.

"W-what's the meaning of this!?" Panic had found its way into his voice.

"Raphael," Zachariel announced, "you have been found guilty of treason against His Holiness, Michael."

"What game are you playing?" He leered. The light in his eyes shined, vindictive and piercing.

"Jeanne of Arc is a subject of His Holiness. You had no sanction to put her to sleep at such a crucial time."

"She needed to rest. Uriel's spear—" An angel jabbed him in the stomach. He let out a gasp.

Then, as if the world had been turned upside down, Michael approached him. Raphael was forced to kneel, the pressure of the guards' hands pushing down on him.

"Is it true, Raphael? Have you condemned the commander of my army to sleep?" A hand came to rest against his cheek, as if probing for the truth.

 _She hadn't wanted to make you worry_ , he wanted to say.

 _She needed rest_ , he wanted to say.

 _ **You**_ _need rest_ , he wanted to say.

"It's true," he said.

"Take him," he heard a whisper.

"Ah, but isn't there a more appropriate punishment, Your Holiness?" Zachariel stepped forward, and Raphael wondered at how cat-like his features were, fine-boned and slender and cunning. 

"What do you mean?" Michael turned around. He looked young, suddenly, a young prince surrounded by plotting advisers. 

"Perhaps the same crime he committed against your darling Jeanne..." 

"But Raphael's not close to sleep." 

Zachariel and the others bowed. "We will see to that." 

"Do what you like," said Michael. An apathy was in his voice now and he left the room in long strides. 

Zachariel, Azrael, and Raziel surrounded him then. There was no longer anything dark in their looks. They looked on him as if they were presiding over a trial of a close friend, solemn expressions and apprehensive eyes. 

Light gathered in their palms until they held long spears. 

Zachariel closed his eyes and bowed his head. "You will forgive us in time, Your Holiness." 

Before a searing pain splintered through his body, Raphael remembered wondering who Zachariel was talking to, Michael or himself?

* * *

Michael's usual froideur came off of him like great patches of snow tumbling off a high peak. Metatron stood there in silence, merely watching. Then, he chanced a step forward, and then another. He waited for a biting remark, but none ever came. 

"Raphael has betrayed you, hasn't he? He's left your army without a commander." 

"You all are taking things too far." It was an outburst in a voice that was close to breaking. "Raphael only sent her to sleep. That can hardly be considered betrayal." 

"Then why did you not call it off?" 

Michael searched for an answer, but his suspicious heart offered none.

"We must be careful. Even the smallest of actions has its consequences." Metatron was close now and Michael could smell him. He smelled like a human and something else. Something familiar and cold. _Snow._

"I..." Michael began, aware that he was losing himself. "I could not trust him..." 

Metatron held Michael's face, was witness to every sniffling sob that escaped those tortured lips.

"Hey, look at me," he whispered.

Eyes flashed toward him, hopeless and broken.

"Everything is going to be okay."

"How can you say that?" It came out between trembling whispers and broken gasps. "Y-you don't know that."

"I do. Because I love you." He felt Michael's face shiver beneath his fingertips. Lightly, gingerly, almost too soft to tell, Metatron placed a kiss on those shivering lips. The body in his hands stiffened and then let go, as if everything were falling very, very slowly.

Metatron caught him before he could reach the ground. He wrapped him in his arms and whispered all the reasons why Raphael and the others didn't matter. That it was his Heaven and would forever remain that way. _His_. 


	14. Chapter 14

Sitri opened his eyes. Pure darkness. He didn't feel like moving. He didn't feel like thinking. He didn't feel like anything: where he was and even who he was seemed inconsequential. All he remembered was the pain, that constant throbbing that was due to come back any second now. That _thing_ that had invaded his head and heart, had made him wish he were free of it even if it meant—

It didn’t come back. He lay still.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Nothing happened.

A tiredness came over him then, deep and still and constant. He felt like closing his eyes again, surrendering to whatever force pulls one under the doldrums of consciousness.

Very soon it would come and existence would gently recede.

All he had to do was close his eyes.

_Forever._

"Ah, so you're awake."

He knew that voice! Turning his head, he saw a figure in white robes sitting close by.

"It can't be. You can't be...," he choked out, memories welling up from where they'd been buried centuries ago.

"But it is," Solomon said placing a tea cup to his lips. "And I am."

He sat on a pile of books like the first time they had met. It was the same face with lips that were not quite a smile and eyes that seemed faraway even when they looked right at you.

Without wasting another moment, Sitri crawled onto Solomon's lap. “How can you be here? I thought you and William shared the same soul."

"We do," Solomon said, placing a hand on his head. "I am just the essence left over from what you called Solomon. The ego that was once attached to the soul."

He understood what Solomon said perfectly: "Yes, William doesn't need any more ego than he already has."

Solomon smiled, tucking a tuft of hair behind his ear. Sitri leaned into the touch and felt the way Solomon's nails grazed along his cheek. No one touched him the way Solomon did, gentle and exact. No one cared to. 

“I—” His lips held something he couldn't name. “I had so much to tell you, so much I wanted to share with you.” His voice came out all wrong, all mangled and broken up like it wasn't his."There was so much I wanted to talk to you about." He squeezed Solomon's robes. "Why did you just have to disappear like that?"

“You must have been quite lonely all those years,” Solomon said. 

Lonely wasn’t quite the right word, Sitri’s eyes narrowed, but there was none closer. "It wasn't fair. You promised me... why couldn't you have stayed? Just for another day,” he cried. “I would have told you everything. Everything about me. There was no one else I wanted to tell but you.”

Solomon only smiled. It was a lie, that smile.

Sitri focused on the darkness. It seemed to go on forever, and he started to understand what it meant. 

"It’s true, isn’t it Solomon? I died, didn’t I?” The sobs broke into a stream of tears. 

“It’s true,” Solomon said. There was something soothing about his insouciant voice.

Suddenly, the hand disappeared and warm arms wrapped around him.

”Do you give up, Sitri?" It was a whisper. He could feel the rising and falling of Solomon’s chest, and where there should have been a heartbeat there was only a pervasive silence.

“Give up?” The tears made Solomon’s robes wet, made them stick to his cheek.

“On the way you are now.” There was something in Solomon’s voice: something clever and dangerous and everything Sitri admired and feared. “You have the choice to start again. Perhaps you will be reborn as a human.”

"Reborn?" Sitri whispered. He couldn't fathom it, that thing called being reborn. How did humans do it so often, supplanting themselves into other bodies and lives, leaving all the other memories behind? It seemed like such a waste, like there was no point in having lived all those other lives in the first place: every lifetime a stranger to the one before it, an infinite cycle of erasure and meaninglessness.

But if Solomon had done it, then maybe he—

Sitri breathed in. Solomon’s scent brought pictures to his head. He could see the palace in Israel and the Headmaster’s common room. 

“You told me, but I didn’t listen." The tears fell down like silent whispers. "I should have been happy."

He closed his eyes and the images blurred together. It surprised him that it wasn't Heaven he saw. 

But then maybe it was.

* * *

William had alerted Dantalion and Camio of his plan that very hour after his conversation with Isaac. They'd been silent at first, skeptical, but they had agreed to ask for an audience with Samael. "It will be dangerous," Camio said, but he did not expound upon the point and William could only pace up and down the room as they waited for a reply. When one came, it came in the form of a small dragon and William had had to step away in shock as the creature unfurled its tail, a scroll unwinding as it did. It was an invitation, Dantalion had said and all of a sudden a portal opened up in front of him. Camio gave it a dubious look, but Dantalion had only shrugged and said, "let's not keep him waiting." 

The last thing William remembered was the feeling of Dantalion's hand on his back as they walked through the portal. There was a rush of something, something William couldn't describe (and didn't want to), and then he was catching his breath, still reeling from that odd feeling of being between dimensions. What his eyes met with when he finally recovered was not what he'd been expecting to see.

The demon dwellings that William was familiar with all featured a sort of defensive air. They seemed to be strongholds and fortresses, as if the demon world was always at the brink of war. So it came as quite the surprise that Samael’s residence did not boast any of these defensive measures. The outer grounds looked more like that of a palace from an antiquated Asian country and the building itself was a pavilion with gleaming, white columns. It screamed opulence like all the rest he had seen, but with a warm and inviting visage.

"What do you know about Samael?" He asked Dantalion, almost cursing himself for not having an encyclopedic knowledge of Hell like Isaac.

"He's different from the other kings."

"How different?"

Dantalion stared ahead. "More reserved. It's hard to figure him out." There was an apprehensiveness in his voice and across his face.

William turned to Camio who also seemed to have the same expression.  

They moved forward. Brightly colored fish flitted around in the rectangular shallow pools that lined the walkways. Fine drapery twisted around the pillars and the ceiling. William felt at ease. For a moment.

A horned demon in an Eastern-looking robe approached them. It had a pleasant smile and dark, narrow eyes.

“My master is honored to have your presence in this humble house,” it said. Its voice was neither deep nor high. It was impossible to determine its gender, or if it even had one.

They were invited further in. The shawls created partitions and he heard laughter and indiscernible chatter from beyond the gently flitting fabrics. William realized at once that the place was a gigantic pavilion with no walls at all. A warm breeze, redolent of spices, rushed through him and shook the shawls. They looked like they were giggling. The servant guided William and the others behind red shawls and into a room that held a table and low couches cut into the floor. It looked as if it were set for guests. William stared at the strange architecture with an expression of discomfort, but quickly followed when both Dantalion and Camio took their places, casually stretching out their legs.

The long, rectangular pool of fish was now at William’s eye level and he couldn’t help but gape at the feeling of being so close to water but not getting wet. He watched the fish as he waited. Suddenly, a black thing came speeding down the water and William reeled away just in time to see a mermaid catch the fish he’d been watching, eating it in one ravenous bite. She was beautiful, black scales bleeding into black skin and green, green eyes. She stared at him with those mystical eyes and he thought about touching her and the gentle curls that tumbled from her head. He thought better of it, however, when she picked out a fish bone from her rows of teeth.

“Ah, William Twining, it’s nice to see you.” William’s head jerked to see Samael descend the steps into the little alcove. He wore the same sort of robe that the demon at the entrance had, but where the previous had been a glossy red, his was a muddled violet. A high collared shirt covered his neck and on it was a deeply intricate design embroidered with shining silver thread.

Camio and Dantalion rose to bow, but Samael quickly waved his hand and they went back to their seats.

“H-hello,” William managed, years of etiquette-training swiftly leaving him.

Samael sat closest to William and helped himself to the kettle on the table and the handleless cups. The liquid came steaming out and smelled rich and strong. Surprisingly, Samael offered the first cup to him and the others before taking one for himself. Then, he lifted the odd cup to his lips and blew. William did the same. A velvety feeling simmered down his tongue accompanied by a wave of smooth warmth. It was coffee! But none he had ever tasted before. It tasted surprisingly like the earth but lacquered up with a refined sweetness.

“Th-this is good,” he gasped, not sure what else to say. Samael, Camio, and Dantalion all took their cups and drank with him.

“You’re most welcome, William.” Samael’s smile was small but not bereft of authenticity. “So,” he began, setting the kettle down. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” He had a voice as smooth and warm as the coffee he served.

William cleared his throat. The coffee still held strong on his tongue. “Do you know how to get to Limbo?”

Samael blinked and a slight frown came across his features. “Limbo?”

“Aren’t you in charge of that place?”

“You could say that,” Samael nodded. “Although caretaker might be closer to the truth.”

“What do you mean?”

“Limbo is under my domain, but I have no power there.” His lips curved. “In fact, besides resting, I’ve never even been there myself.”

The rest were silent. Even Camio’s head turned abruptly, his eyebrows quivering.

“Then what is your role? How are you caretaker if you’ve never been there?” William launched. It was an unguarded, honest question and Samael seemed to appreciate it. 

“I simply oversee the souls’ passage to that place, and, if need be, their disbursement. I keep track of them, to put it simply. It’s a sort of feeling I have. I can feel their weight,” he lifted his hand, the sleeve falling elegantly, “their sorrows, their lives.”

“Disbursement?”

Samael nodded. “A soul does not stay in Limbo forever. If the demon does not wake, after a certain time, even the soul disappears. Not even I know what happens after that.”

A breeze blew through, rustling the shawls. It was a warm one, a comfortable one, and for a moment William forgot he was in Hell. Far away, someone was singing in a language that William didn't recognize. Something beautiful. And sad.

“Then Sitri’s soul is already—”

“Ah yes, the viscount’s soul should disappear soon but…” Samael’s eye narrowed. Despite the slight change in expression, it did not strike William that he was troubled at all, or that he was thinking deeply.

“But?” William couldn’t help but blurt out. 

“There seems to be some sort of interference, somehow.”

“Interference?” 

“I do not question the incidents that occur in Limbo. Still, it seems odd that the viscount’s soul would hold onto existence instead of the more robust ones.”

“But that means there’s still some chance, right?” William insisted. Another warm, soft wind blew over him then, and he watched as the fabrics fluttered.

“Chance?” Samael raised an eyebrow. Then, without any warning, he burst out laughing. It was odd to watch one he knew so little about laugh with such disregard.

“You mean to resurrect the dead, Elector?”

William retreated back, startled. “I-I don’t mean… what I want is…”

“So those rumors about you being a realist really are false.” He held a hand up to his mouth, the long sleeve of his robe swishing with the movement.

“I-I’m still a realist. Just, if something can be proven, then it’s real to me.”

The duke continued to giggle. “Very interesting. If only I’d met you sooner. Now I see what all the fuss is about.”

William was perhaps more confused than when he arrived. “Going back to the matter at hand, is it even possible to retrieve a soul from Limbo?”

Samael shrugged his shoulders, but none of the humor disappeared from his face. “You’d have better luck asking the vermin who go there seeking souls.”

“Seeking souls?”

“To eat,” Samael smiled. “Although you’d have trouble asking them, since they really are brainless vermin after all.”

“Where are they?” William asked without hesitation.

Samael sighed. “To the east of here. As far east as one can go. And then some.”

William frowned. Could such a person be serious? He wondered, only slightly, if Samael had some grand plan to murder all of them. But rather than being frightened at this realization, he was relieved. If there really was a chance, however slim, then maybe, just maybe…

“Say we do retrieve Sitri’s soul. What then? Can demons' souls be put back into their bodies?”

“Ah, first you’d need a body, wouldn’t you?” This time, Samael’s humor had subsided. He seemed back to his calm self, besides the impinging grin.

“Then the next step would be to go Baalberith, then.”

“You can’t mean Duke Baalberith, can you? I had dinner with him just last night and he seemed quite unaware of the fact that his beloved nephew was dead.”

“What? But I saw him! We saw him! He took Sitri back to the demon world.” William looked at Dantalion, searching his face for agreement. “Didn’t he?”

Samael was silent. Something like amusement had etched its way onto his face.

“There could be more to this than we know about, William.” Dantalion said. His thoughts, too, were racing wildly through his head. If it hadn’t been Baalberith they’d seen that time, then who? And why? As much as the Western Duke irked him, he was preferable to some unknown enemy. “Still, it makes little sense to me. Whoever it was that took Sitri knew that he was going to die, and didn’t bother to try and stop it. What that person has planned for his body I can’t even begin to imagine.”

A long pause hung over their heads. William racked his brains of that night, but there was no hint of who the impersonator could have been. He should have trusted his instinct then, that the Baalberith that had held Sitri gently in his arms couldn’t have possibly been the real and terrible demon. He should have unmasked the culprit then. Now they were only left with an even slighter chance, much slimmer than it ever could have been.

“Well, what do you think, William?” Dantalion asked. “Even if we do manage to retrieve his soul, if we can’t find his body in time, there’s little point.”

“Even still, his soul is still clinging to something, so we have to, too. I only have one question,” William said, turning to Samael once again. “Why wouldn’t you tell Baalberith that Sitri's soul was in Limbo?”

“There seemed little point in ruining such a pleasant evening. Besides,” Samael said as he crossed his arms and leaned back into the pillows, “even without a candidate, we are still political rivals.”

William accepted this answer, perhaps the easiest he’d accepted the whole meeting. 

* * *

Sandalphon balanced on his feet uncomfortably. It seemed a perpetual state of discomfort followed him everywhere. His large size had something to do with it. When no one was looking, he’d slouch terribly. He was sure he’d develop a stoop one of these days and be nicknamed crow giant or something like that. Yet, the reason why he was so uncomfortable now had little to do with his enormous height.

He’d never questioned Metatron before, but bringing a demon to Heaven was quite a different matter. Sandalphon, in truth, did care about politics quite a bit, and was perhaps the only other living soul who knew where Metatron’s plans for Heaven would lead, but the presence of a demon in one’s own quarters could shake even the strongest of constitutions.

“Hey, Sandalphon,” Metatron said, absent-mindedly stroking the demon’s hair, “do you think that the old man will look something like this when he’s asleep?”

He shrugged. _No_ was the easy answer. _No_ , the archangel of Heaven would not look like a demon- _a dead demon_ -while he slept. _No_ , Michael would never let anyone touch his hair like that, even if he were asleep.

How had he even acquired such a thing? A demon in the death sleep was not an easy thing to come by. He studied Metatron's face for the answer, but it did not seem obvious in the least. Perhaps the menacing-looking cosplay he'd stashed in the closet had something to do with it.

"Do you think so, _hm,_ Sandalphon?" His voice hid a delight.

"A little." 

 _Yes_ was the hard answer. _Yes,_ was their objective, to put Michael into a long and restful sleep. So that the powers in Heaven could shift and turn like the storm clouds down below in the human world. _Yes_ , because Metatron would achieve that or turn to dust trying.

Metatron smiled at the words. His hands gently stroked the demon’s face. “They’re both such beautiful creatures. So soft and fragile looking…” Something glimmered in Metatron’s eyes. “Is it wrong that I want both for myself?”

Sandalphon once again shifted uncomfortably. This question was one he couldn’t answer.

* * *

The lushness of Samael’s domain soon gave way to arid fields of red dust. Papery tendrils of dry grass shot up in patches of straight lines, creating boundaries along the fields, and William guessed they were traveling through the remains of agricultural land. The trek was boring and William had decided to devote his idle mind to structuring theories about the demon world.

“Do demons need to eat?” He’d guessed as much the moment he saw Dantalion’s horrid expression regarding Stratford’s food.

It was Camio who answered him. “It depends on what you mean by _need_. We won’t die if we don’t get any food into us, at least, not right away. It makes us weaker, just like humans, although we can go on for much longer than humans can." He seemed to be studying the landscape too, but perhaps he was looking for threats instead of theories. "The main reason demons eat regularly is to remain powerful. I guess the main difference is the things we _can_ eat and what will sustain us.”

An image of Sitri stuffing his face with sweets shot into William’s mind and he needed to bury it before a twinge attacked his chest.

"Why, are you hungry, William?" Dantalion asked. It was a question with genuine concern.

"Only for answers." 

They walked on. The rolling fields became hills with narrow, depthless valleys, as if someone had taken a knife and crudely cut them apart, all jagged edges and sheer drops.

Lamia’s talk from an earlier time popped into his mind. _When this world broke apart…_ Hell was a decrepit world that didn’t seem worth fighting over. It was sparse and, like its inhabitants, broken.

It occurred to William as he was walking, observing the strange scenery, that he'd gotten over the worst of the grief. A thought snuck into his head that Camio and Dantalion were simply entertaining this distraction of his—that all it would ever be was a distraction—and he'd never see Sitri again. It was an ugly thought and he wanted to push it down. 

"Do you think Samael was right? Is Sitri's soul really..." 

"What reason would he have to lie to us?" Dantalion asked, although, the tone of his voice sounded like he had thought up a few. 

"But he _does_ lie. All demons do," Camio interjected. He gave Dantalion a stern look. It seemed there was a river of poison flowing between Dantalion and Camio, William thought, and he regretted having dragged them along together. Of course there was, he realized. The both of them now stood between one demon and the throne. But, William got the feeling that their animosity was also due to something else, something that would explode if it simmered much longer.

They cusped a final hill and looked out into the distance. Far away, hazy mountains shot up from pockets of trees. At least, William thought they were trees, until they descended into it and he found the black tufts of stuff were the skeletal remains of a forest.

Wearily, he crept through the forest of dead trees. Every now and then, he would have to watch his step, as a root tore through the stone path. Hell’s roads weren’t well maintained, he thought. But then, for creatures who could teleport at will, why would they even need roads? Still, neither Camio nor Dantalion in front of him seemed inclined to employ other methods of transport. 

The sky started to grow darker, but it was impossible to tell the time of day. He realized his feet hurt from the rough terrain and that his breathing was heavy.

He had to stop.  He found a thick and gnarled trunk and tried to lean against it. No sooner had he touched it than the tree’s branches flung down at him.

“What-" he gasped before the branches wrapped around his neck. He tried to scream, but only a dry rasping sound escaped his lips. His hands tried to rip at the branches, but the tree’s grip was too strong. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Camio and Dantalion, their backs moving farther and farther away.

Suddenly, a sharp pain hit his head.

 _Ahh, it’s been so long since I’ve tasted human flesh~_ Something said, but he wasn’t sure if the sound was outside or in his head. _Where shall I start first? The body is a meal enough for two and the head makes a tasty snack!_

William’s vision was going dark. He could feel himself being dragged off the ground. He held on to the branches with all his might, but his strength grew weaker by the second. His arms trembled as they clawed at the branch, but there was no way to escape the squeezing grip. Soon, even his arms fell limp at his side. He tried screaming one last time, but no sound came out. The world had gone dark and he could only hear the tree branches snapping against one another.

_Although, I think I’ll start with the head, since it’s best when still fresh._

Something crashed, blaring noise against his eardrums, and darkness as black as ink stains blotted out the rest of his consciousness.


	15. Chapter 15

William was there. In Heaven again. The light shined and bounced along his skin as if it were alive. He felt free. And powerful.

The blade shined, as if it pulled in the very light itself. 

He held the blade to the demon’s head.

He reached.

And shook.

Why did it feel strange now? “Why?” he asked. 

The demon yelled something, sound buzzing on his ears, and he flung around. He saw the other one coming and reached out the blade again. This time it connected. This time he felt nothing.

The knife plunged into the demon’s chest, a joyous, thick sound like the gurgling of a brook in autumn. He’d meant to stab it in the heart, _as if such foul creatures had hearts_ , but his body was still untrained.

A scream ripped through the air, sounding like bells to his ears. He smiled to himself. So he had won. The other demon was helpless as well. Now, he would only had to finish this one off and move onto—

“William…” The demon gasped. Something painful convulsed in his chest. The eyes that looked at him did not contain hatred. Instead, they were crisp and clear. Shouldn't they hate him? After all, he only had hate for them. Hate, and that annoying feeling in his chest. Soon he would forget all about being human. Soon he'd be able to butcher them without looking into their eyes.

And he remembered the happiness spread through his veins the way the demon's blood soaked the thin fabric of its clothes. He remembered calling for his master and the strange, lifeless joy when he looked at Michael's glimmering eyes. And he remembered the dazzling blankness of his conscious, and the void that grew within his soul.

* * *

The blankness broke. A voice tore it open and William, for he remembered that was who he was, floated to the surface. 

 “Are you all right William?” Dantalion peered at him with eyes of concern.

“I’m fine. Just…” The memories flashed before his eyes, so vivid, as if he were still in their dreamlike grip. “I remember now…”

“Remember?”

“I remember being an angel. Michael and Heaven. I remember everything. I remember how I…" 

All was silent as the realization washed over him. Dantalion bowed his head as if he already knew what he would say next. No, it couldn't be right! He searched his memories again: the strange angel in the tree, Michael's approval, when he'd burst into his room to find-

 _No._ He didn't want to believe it. He looked to Dantalion, but he had already given everything away.

"I killed Sitri," he said. He looked up. The sky had grown hopelessly dark.

“William…” Dantalion spoke under his breath.  
  
“…You never told me who it was, did you? And like an idiot, I believed it was just some angel. I never… if I had known, I would have…” He stopped himself.

“Yes, I didn’t tell you.” He couldn’t make out Dantalion’s expression in the dark, but he could tell from the sound of his voice that he wore a sort of anguish on his face. A sort of guilt that one doesn’t absolve so easily. “I didn’t tell you because it was what Sitri wanted.”

William pressed his lips together. He didn’t know what to do, who to lash out at, so he scratched the dirt under his fingertips and felt the dust dig into his nails.

“I’m sorry, William,” Dantalion said. “I’m sorry you had to find out like this.”

“You can’t blame yourself. You were under Heaven’s control.” Camio had come closer. The demon held a bit of light in his hand that illuminated the ground in front of William. He could see the both of them now and every twinge pain on their faces.

“Even still, it was me who did it. And in that moment, I… enjoyed it.” He opened him mouth again to say the rest, but nothing came out. It was the power he had loved back then, every single second of it. He’d loved breaking out of the mortal shell and the thrill of immortality. For a moment, he was stronger than those demons and his destiny was on an unbreakable path. It was something that he couldn’t tell Dantalion, a hidden whisper of the soul.

“I... there's more,” he said, his eyes pensive on the dry ground. “Michael has more of those weapons that were used on Sitri. He is planning to attack Hell soon.”

Dantalion shot a glance to Camio, who looked equally as apprehensive. They nodded and Dantalion faced William again. “Do you know when?”

William nodded. A chill had come over him, but he couldn’t decide if it was the air or the darkness within himself. “He said it was just a prototype, so by the time they’ve made more, I suspect.”

“And the prototype was already lethal.” Camio observed. “Damn. That doesn’t give us much time.”

“And even with that, right now we’re off on this—” Dantalion bit his lip. One wrong word and he’d make William shut down completely, he was sure of it. “…errand.” He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t tell William that their mission was hopeless. No matter what what they were, angels, demons, humans, nothing came back from the dead.

William bowed his head. “I can carry on alone from here. You two have a lot to prepare for.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Dantalion snapped. He grabbed his arm. At the sudden jerk, William’s head shot up. “There’s no way I’d leave you here by yourself!”

A smile flashed across William’s lips and Dantalion gasped. There was a terrible and deep sadness in that smile. Solomon used to wear that smile.

“Don’t-” Dantalion whispered. He knelt down and held William's shoulders. “Don’t do it, William! Whatever you’re thinking, don’t… Just, please talk to me, William.” His fingers dug into William’s shoulders. Yet, as much as he held on, he knew he could not reach him. Just as he could not reach Solomon. He could feel the warmth of his body and the beating of his trembling heart, but he could not reach that place where Solomon shut himself away. A hopeless field frozen in its reticence.

“I… need some time for myself…” William sighed heavily. He slipped out of Dantalion's grip. “Just a little… just some distance…”

“All right,” Dantalion whispered.

* * *

They left William there, keeping sight of him. Dantalion’s agitation was visible to Camio's eyes, right down to his unsteady hands.

“You know one of us will have to investigate this,” Camio urged, his voice every bit as detached as the head boy exacting discipline. “If the angels plan to make more of those weapons, it would mean a war.” He looked down at the acrid dust on his boots. “We need as much information as we can find to come out of that war alive.” If a high ranking demon like Sitri couldn’t survive against William, Camio couldn’t guess the destruction the weapons would cause in the hands of trained soldiers.

“I’m not leaving him,” Dantalion said.

Camio leered at him. “We must respect his wishes.” _You lied to him. And to me._

“If he didn’t want us here, he would have sent us away.”

“Perhaps it will come to that soon.”

Dantalion eyed him furiously.

“Are you suggesting we leave William out here, defenseless?”

“Are you suggesting we leave the demon world defenseless?” It was Camio’s turn to be angry. It wasn’t just that Dantalion was a powerful demon whose influence would be needed preparing for an attack—it was that he was a candidate for substitute king. If he were to rule this world, he would need to start prioritizing the needs of many over his own emotions. “It’s William’s choice to go to Limbo. It’s our duty to protect Hell from an invasion.”

Dantalion was silent. He couldn’t pry William from this mission, not while there was still hope left.

“I want to help him,” he said, looking over at William. The boy stood in the tree line, the shadows obscuring his face.

“You once stopped me from turning Maria into a Nephilim,” Camio said.

“What does this have to do—”

“If you truly respect the choices of others, you should ask him what he wants. It may be different from what you _think_ he wants.” Camio laced his words carefully. There could be poison in those words, but there was also undeniable reason. 

Dantalion didn’t respond. He bit his lip and showed his anger through bared teeth. Finally, he said, “if he wants me to go, I’ll go, but not before that.”

“Understood,” Camio nodded. He knew his first course of action was to uncover information. He didn’t need Dantalion for that.

“Do you remember what the weapon looked like?”

Dantalion's mind went back to the scene in Michael’s tower. It was unnerving being there again, the light too bright, the sensations of holiness telling him he would never belong. He tried to focus on the knife, but soon his mind wandered: Sitri yelling at him for his complaints, the way he'd torn his clothing to fix him up, and that dejected look after their match of truth or dare. Was there still hope? If there was, he'd ignored it well.

"Well?" Camio asked, his voice punctuated with impatience.

“It just looked like an ordinary knife. Only, instead of metal it looked like it was made of…” he tried to search for the words to describe it. “It looked like it was made of starlight.”

“Starlight.” Camio touched his knuckles to his chin. That was little to go on. “I’ll need to find out as much as I can before reporting this to the Four Kings.” Camio grimaced. The kings were a different problem, he knew. If Baalberith truly did not know about Sitri’s death and the disappearance of his corpse, he’d demand blood when he found out. It would be a rude awakening, Camio realized, and they might have a civil war on top of an invasion because of it.

“I’ll be in the human world.” Camio walked off, his body disappearing as a portal glowed under his feet. “Keep an eye on William, but don’t go against his will.”

Dantalion looked back. William was now staring in his direction, a look of slight confusion skewing his features.

“Camio went off to find out more about what Heaven’s planning,” Dantalion said when he approached him.

William nodded. It looked like he’d been thinking hard. A remorsefulness showed in his eyes and Dantalion wasn’t sure how to get rid of it.

“Can I come back now?”

William nodded.

Dantalion walked closer to him and stood there in the small grove of dead trees. “Why don’t you get some rest?” He suggested.

“Wasn’t I knocked out for the past couple of hours?”

“No, it was more like twenty minutes,” he said, trying to smile. “Besides,” he said, sitting down and inviting William to do the same, “it’s better to sleep in areas like this instead of out in the open.”

William nodded again. His eyes did feel heavy. Without thinking about much, he curled up on the ground and closed his eyes. He hoped the memories would not come back disguised as dreams.

* * *

By the time Camio arrived in Guernsey, the night’s fog had surrounded the sea cliff. From a distance, his house looked like a ship upon a ghostly ocean. The gate opened on its squeaking hinge and he strode through the garden. Magic kept the roses from withering, but a closer eye revealed the webs of frost that infiltrated the petals. Their scent swept through him with frozen sweetness. He entered through the door quietly, shrugging off his damp coat and hanging it on the rack. The house was warm but quiet.

He heard footsteps from the second floor and looked in time to see John rushing down the stairs.

“I thought you were in Hell,” John said sounding breathless. “If I’d have known you’d be coming back this early—”

“I need to see them. It’s urgent.” John seemed to catch his meaning. The casual mien on his face gave way to concern.

By now, Uriel had joined him on the landing, his face frantic with concern. “Is the young master all right?”

“Yes, Dantalion’s with him,” he said, although that probably wasn’t the answer Uriel wanted to hear. “How is Raguel?”

Uriel blinked at the question. “He’s recovering.”

“Can he speak?”

“He can, but—”

Without waiting, Camio flew up the stairs and to Raguel’s room. He lay very still in the bed, his complexion still dreadfully pale. The sea wind had given his injuries no repose and the damp chill in the room would have killed him if he’d been mortal.

“Raguel,” Camio called. There was a blink from eyes heavy and dreary looking.

“Raguel,” Camio said again. This time Raguel’s eyes slid open, tiny slits regarding him in quiet uncertainty. “Tell me about the weapons Heaven is creating.”

The papery lips parted. “Weapons?”

Camio explained the ordeal. He was careful not to give too much away to the angel. They’d been careful about the arrangement, but he knew the wrong move would spring Raguel and his beloved master into Heaven’s hands.

“Michael did speak of such things at our meetings, but he hardly—” He coughed, a horrid, sputtering sort of cough that grated Camio’s ears. “He hardly seemed to hint that they were finished…”

“William,” Camio started, “when William was in Heaven he said that Michael called it a prototype, but it still happened to be lethal against a demon. Is there anything else you know about it?”

“Michael said that it was magic that caused it.”

“Do you know anything else about it? What kind of magic?”

Raguel took deep breaths. “I… I know nothing else about it.” He hummed to himself, as if warding off the pain.

“I will give you time to remember. I expect an answer when I return.” Camio turned away, out of the house and into the chilling darkness.

A candidate down, an invasion on the way… all these matters wracked his head. The wind blew and the bushes shivered. The waves crashed against the cliff as if they were trying to pull the island into the sea. He sensed someone there with him and quickly shifted his eyes.

“Raguel needs to rest.” Uriel’s eyes were caught on the ground. “But we cannot reach Limbo in the human world.”

Camio could tell it weighed on him like a robe sodden with sea water.

"And you cannot return to Heaven. You still haven't said why." He eyed Uriel tersely.

There was no response. 

“What are you hiding from?” Back then it had seemed surreal: Uriel’s piercing dark eyes, Raguel’s form draped in his arms like sheet. They’d both seemed near the doors of death and when he’d approached them. He could feel power brimming on their skin, the aftershocks of it from whatever force they’d had to absorb. “It’s time you talked, Uriel,” Camio folded his arms. All the mist seemed to gather around him, making him an intimidating dark shadow among the wispy tendrils.

“A demon’s home would be the last place to look for a couple of fallen angels. Or nearly fallen.”

“Not necessarily. The angels know you have a close connection with us." 

"Then I am just your prisoner here." He grit his teeth. Camio eyed him wearily, but his stern face did not change.

"Isn't that right?" Uriel's dark eyes glinted. "When you took us in, you knew what you were getting." 

"If Heaven took William again, I'd have a way of getting him back. Or two." 

Uriel put his face to the breeze. His hair blew away from his face and he looked older somehow. 

“How did you know this place even existed, Uriel?”

He paused for a moment. “Perhaps more than just the young master was snooping through your room.”

Camio sensed the tinge in his voice. “You know something, don’t you?”

Uriel glared at him.

“Tell me.” Camio’s voice was as rigid as the sea cliffs.

“Someone in Heaven is trying to overthrow Michael.”

The words seemed to come from the mist itself, heavy and ominous and dripping with threats. “What do you mean? What does this have to do with Heaven’s weapons?”

“As far as I know, nothing, although Michael may find a good reason to use them if he finds out.”

“Is that why you're here?”

Uriel's face did not change. 

"Then who is it? Who's trying to overthrow him?" 

“I would not give that person a reason to be my enemy.”

“Tight lipped, I see.” Camio’s hand crept to his face and tucked back a stray strand of hair. It was damp. “Would you still be that way if I threw you back to the angels?”

“I would.”

Camio’s eyebrow quirked. “Do you think that person would save you if I did?”

“Probably not, but I would rather risk that than expose him.”

“Why?”

Uriel took some time to respond. “There are worse things than death for angels.”

“Then perhaps I should kill you now.” He did not care if Uriel could tell it was a bluff. He wanted information and he had learned the best way to get it was through telling things that were not quite the truth.

The air between them seethed despite the chill. Camio remembered the falling sky and William's painful powers, but was prepared to face the same thing if it meant getting answers. They were running out of time.  

 Just then, he saw Uriel's eyes alter slightly. The light swam into them again and formed a ring of terror around his pupils. That was when Camio realized the light was not just in Uriel's eyes but all around them, perforating the fog with razor sharp rays.

He heard Uriel gasp.

“What is it?”

“It’s him!”

* * *

Dantalion sat there in silence. It was unusually peaceful for a night in Hell. He heard no shrieks and the clusters of shadows he saw were just that—only shadows among the dead trees. Perhaps it was because they were so far away from everything: such arid land would be of use to few. Even the two blood red moons hung high like two passive red eyes, content to let them pass through the night unscathed.

He felt William's warmth against his side and wished he could spend all his nights in Hell like this. Just this, just now, nothing else mattered. Then the warmth moved and went away and he remembered that nights in Hell were never warm. 

“I just remembered something,” William said, shifting out of sleep. “There was another angel there with Michael.” He yawned. 

“Another angel?" Even now, he didn't like to think of Heaven. The memories were still sharp, the mad whispers of a flute catching in his ears when all was silent. "There are many angels in Heaven, aren’t there?”

“But this one was different. I—I don’t remember his name. I don’t think they ever mentioned it. But that one,” William closed his eyes, trying to hold onto the image. It was bothering him. “I felt like he was hiding something.”

“Do you think it has something to do with the weapons Michael was creating?”

“I… maybe…” William's eyes grew heavy and he sunk against Dantalion's shoulder once again. 

He tried to get used to the warmth at his shoulder, but it was too foreign in this world. It was something he knew he couldn't keep. He'd lied to William, he knew, and the fragile peace between them was only one of necessity. Soon, soon William would once again grow distrustful of him and he had every reason to. 

Dantalion frowned. “Don’t worry about it, William. Get some rest." 

It was better this way. _William_ was better this way. Humans should never trust demons.

* * *

Sitri paced the darkness. It seemed, no matter how far he went in any direction, Solomon was always visible in the distance.

They’d talked about many things: books and art and sweets and teas and wines and demons. Whatever the topic, Solomon always seemed ready to add something to the conversation and Sitri eagerly listened. Despite the fact that they only had each other to talk to, Sitri hung onto every word. In a way, they were all he had left to hang onto. 

He looked out into the unending shadows. It should have been a scary thing, that darkness, but somehow he could put no word to the emotion he felt. It seemed rather shapeless, formless, and Sitri imagined himself diving into it and becoming merely nothing.

“What is it?” He asked Solomon. “All of this. What is it?”

Solomon closed his eyes and smiled pleasantly. “Just as I am a manifestation of an ego, this place is also a construct. It is the physical manifestation of life beyond death.”

Just the mention of that word stung. He hadn’t wanted to die. There were so many, many things he hadn’t done. There were so many regrets he had.

“I don’t like it here.”

“Why? You are far away from things like pain and sadness. No one can hurt you here.”

“I know…” He was forgetting about the pain, but for him, pain had always been an easy thing to forget about. “But what about you? Why are you here? Even if you are just the essence, why are you here with me?”

Solomon gave him a wan smile.

“I want to discover the truth beyond this world.”

Sitri blinked. Somehow the answer made sense. Somehow he knew what Solomon was talking about without really understanding it. It seemed strange, and necessary.

“Do you know what the difference between humans and angels is, Sitri?”

His eyes were fixed on the darkness. Time seemed to flow like it did in a dream here. It would cut and start, jerking around like a branch caught in the wind. Flashes of memories and visions would come, only to be lost in the black spaces between Solomon and him. “What is it?” He asked the darkness.

“It’s that humans will seek happiness at whatever the cost. Angels are content to be miserable.”

He looked down at his hands. They seemed transparent, merely outlines of what they should have been, but even that seemed necessary.

“Ah, you will have to choose soon, Sitri.”

He looked up at Solomon whose sad eyes he had once hoped to conquer.

“You could be so happy,” Solomon said.


	16. Chapter 16

There was no concept of time here. Sitri never felt tired nor hungry nor thirsty nor lonely. He tried some of Solomon’s tea once but it was tasteless, no warmth or even coldness. Even still, the tea seemed to steam perpetually—white wisps of vapors against a black background—and it was soothing in the way that fleeting things are.

He liked to stare at it. As if staring at it would...

What would it do? 

There was nothing left to do. 

“You can’t stay here, forever Sitri,” Solomon reminded him. Indeed, it felt like at any moment he could disappear, sucked into a great vacuum of endlessness. But the thought did not unsettle him as much as it should have.

He simply huddled by Solomon and curled up in his embrace. Tears fell from his eyes in sparkling droplets.

Solomon’s body was warm, even without a heart.

“I still miss your love,” he said and it seemed, as he sat there in the darkness with Solomon, that he had always missed it.

* * *

William woke to a strange, metallic light. The sky seemed to be made of orange mist, churning and roiling with a great fury. It reminded William of stew. The kind of stew that would be boiling on the stove back at home. He used to get curious some days and sneak into the kitchen to experiment with the different wares. Kevin would always be there to lecture him on the dangers of hot stoves and pink, little fingers. He could almost hear his voice if he listened closely. But had that been Kevin or Kevin Cecil? He couldn't quite remember anymore.

Cracks erupted and shook the ground. William shot up, his body shaking. 

“We should go,” Dantalion said, keeping his voice down. “It isn’t safe here anymore.”

He nodded and let Dantalion lead the way. The only sound between them was the crunch of their shoes against the dead leaves and stones. William breathed deeply and regretted it; it smelled like sulfur and burning.

It did not take long to reach the end of the trees. The forest stopped abruptly at a narrow valley. Cliffs rose on either side, so high that there was no chance of climbing around. In the distance William could hear a great roaring sound.

"Stay close," Dantalion whispered. He went in and William followed. Soon the entrance disappeared and all that was around them was gray walls and orange light. A ruddy orange light that stained Dantalion's face and made his eyes turn a dirty gold.

That dirty gold turned to him before he could avert his gaze.

“I’m sorry, William,” he said.

It was the tone that made William stop first, not the words. The words hit William's brain later, like the smell of rain before the downpour. 

“I’m sorry for lying to you. For not telling you what happened.”

It was the same tone: he saw Dantalion kneeling in the ruined church, moonlight sliding through from the collapsed roof. He saw Dantalion in the forest admitting to killing Solomon. 

Looking into that burnt gold, he saw someone who had kept a terrible secret for a thousand years. 

“I won’t forgive you yet, Dantalion,” William said. “But I will give you a chance to redeem yourself.”

Dantalion gave him a look, a look William knew but could never describe. He had to turn away from that look and everything it meant. “Just stay by my side, as much as you can.”

They continued on. The walls of the valley pressed against them and William felt the coldness of the stone walls. Soon Dantalion pulled ahead of him and William was forced behind, wedging himself against the stones. The walls grew smoother and slicker. William pressed forward, despite the discomfort, until he realized his arms were soaked. He looked for the source of the water and saw gray tongues attached to gray mouths set in gray faces. These were not stones.

“Dantalion…?”

“They can’t hurt you,” he said. “But don’t listen to what they say.”

“What are they?”

The faces twitched and blinked. They seemed to be sleeping, but their grayness now reminded William more of corpses than stones.

“I… I don’t know…”

William tried his best not to look at them. His stomach squeezed with disgust.

 _Such a good boy_ … 

“All I know is…”

_A smart boy…. He’d make such a worthy son…_

“What is it?”

_So smart… so kind…_

Dantalion took a deep breath and turned to him. “They tell you what you most want to hear. Don’t listen.”

A loud crack above silenced the stones. William looked up and saw the sky churning as it it were made of fire, a great bellowing conflagration that would soon come pouring down.

“Quickly!” Dantalion gasped and tried to edge his way against the narrow walls.

By now, the slick, wet feeling had seeped through William’s clothes. He inched forward and tried to ignore it. If the stones were talking to him, he did not let himself distinguish their words; he only wondered what Dantalion must have heard, and why there was no comfort in those words for him.

Eventually the valley withered away and they saw a large, black plain. Only, as they walked further on, the plain moved and shifted. The sound grew louder.

“It’s an ocean,” William gasped. It was dyed black in the strange light. William squinted at it, watching the way the water rippled above the surface. “Do you think that Samael meant this when he said as east as you can go, and further?”

Dantalion shrugged, looking for a sign of whatever it was they were supposed to find. His eyes rested on a castle, half submerged in the surf.

* * *

They crossed the bridge to the castle, a paltry thing made of stone and mortar. All the while, William wished that he wouldn’t fall. The waves crashed viciously down below.

But something else was on his mind: Dantalion. William hated the silence between the two of them, hated knowing he had caused it. But hadn't it been Dantalion who was at fault? He'd lied, or at least, he'd kept the truth a secret. 

 _Dantalion is good at keeping secrets, isn't he?_  The thought crept into his head so suddenly that William felt the need to turn around and see if anyone had whispered it into his ear. 

But it was the truth. 

 _He is, isn't he?,_ William thought. Solomon's death and who he really was: Dantalion  _was_ good at keeping secrets. Perhaps all demons were, but for Dantalion there was no difference between secrets and the pain they caused. In one way, William was grateful for those secrets. Had he known the truth earlier, would he have still made this journey? Would he still have had the resolve to? Either way, things would have been different.

But in another way, Dantalion's secrets were vicious streams, drowning those who got too close.  

William felt like he was drowning. He was too tired to confront Dantalion and all the secrets he held. And he was afraid to, as if those secrets would strangle him in his sleep. When they finally reached the end of the bridge, William couldn't escape the feeling that he _had_ fallen off.

Dantalion knocked on the castle door. It opened with a creak and a pair of eyes shot a look at him from under a cowl-like hood.

“Hmph,” the hooded figure said.

“You’re still as sociable as ever,” Dantalion said dryly.

“Why are you here?” It was almost a sneer.

“I’d like to know the same thing of you.”

"You're trespassing."

"You're in my way."  

It looked as if the two would go on forever, but William had seriously had enough of standing on the treacherous bridge. He pushed past the two of them and walked straight into the castle.

“Hey, what are you doing!?”

William realized quickly that the castle was not much better than the bridge. The floor was damp and everything smelled of mold. A sad looking chandelier hung haphazardly from the ceiling, but the light it gave off barely lit up the middle of the room. Shadows clung to every corner like black garbed guests reluctant to join the center foray.

Dantalion came up against him and gave a reluctant sigh. The other demon also stomped his way in.

"You can't just come in here like that!" He waved his arms. His hood had flown off revealing a small face framed by messy, black hair. 

"We just did." Dantalion punctuated the sentence, as if the argument was over. It might as well have been to William. He took off his jacket and found the least rotten-looking chair and sat in it. The wood creaked and wobbled, but it did not break. 

"You're intruding on private property!" The demon shrieked. Apparently the argument wasn't over. "And bringing a human! I'll.... I'll..." 

"Like you could do anything." Dantalion found a chair, perhaps the second least-rotten, and summarily sat down on it. He kicked his feet up on the table and closed his eyes. 

The other demon, meanwhile, grumbled and sulked his way to a dark corner of the room. 

"Who is that?" William whispered. 

"Pluto, the _former_ god of the Underworld." The way Dantalion enunciated _former_ gave William a clue not to broach the subject further.

Pluto took an eating utensil from the table and spun his hair around it and into a bun of sorts. He grumbled about not being able to find his hair clip and then sat himself on a chair, as if he’d finally decided to listen to them. He did not exactly invite them to talk, but his eyes seemed receptive and the tiniest bit less irritated.

William took it as an opportunity. 

“We’re trying to get to Limbo,” he said, his posture straightening as if he were about to make some great defense. "Do you know the way?" 

Pluto blinked. He hardly seemed surprised. “That place? It’s not very interesting.”

“So you’ve been there?”

“All immortal beings have.”

“Then you know how to get there?”

“Just go to sleep, I suppose.” He yawned.

“That’s not what I meant,” William said, “I want to go there while I’m awake.”

Once again, Pluto stared and blinked. He did not seem very surprised. Instead, he frowned a little and made a sound in his throat. _Hmph_.

William explained what Samael had told him, about going East. “Do you know how to do that? Do you know how to get there?”

Pluto shrugged. “Not really.” His elbows were perched on the table and he rested his chin on the flats of this fingers. William had a hard time deciding if the guy was being purposely unhelpful or if he was just pretending to be unconcerned. Either way, it wasn’t polite in the least.

With the storm outside, they were forced to stay in Pluto’s domain. William watched the surf crash against the castle’s walls below—great, roaring tumbles that seemed to rock its foundations. The strange orange light bathed the horizon, but where a dying sun should have been, there was nothing. For all his lack of hospitality, Pluto did not tell them to leave.

“Not my place,” he explained when pressed about the matter.

“Whose is it then?”

“Charon’s.”

“The ferryman of the Underworld?”

Pluto’s eyes lighted for a second. Or no—William realized—they burned, or smoldered. There was no light in them. “Yeah, back when I ruled the place.”

William felt himself perk up from his spot by the window. Classics had never been his favorite subject, but he’d still found Greek and Roman myths a welcome break from his fondness for the sciences at times.

“Back then,” William started, “when you ruled this place, was it really like the stories? Only shadows and the spirits of the dead?”

“Yeah,” Pluto said blandly.

“What happened to all those people? Did they become demons?”

“No.”

“Then where did they go?”

“Don’t know.”

There was something about Pluto, something about his ignorance and lack of curiosity that unnerved William. It was human to feel curious about things. He’d even witnessed it in Dantalion and the others. But for Pluto and even Samael a strange sort of apathy seemed to have had invaded them long ago. Or perhaps, William realized, they’d never questioned the way of things. As if the had an incalculable way of knowing the outcome of everything.

It was irritating.

He looked out the windows, trying to figure out what he should do next, when he felt the unmistakable feeling of bugs crawling over him. His vision whirled and darkened as he clawed at his skin, nails digging in enough to draw blood.

* * *

A hard, cracking sound invaded Uriel’s ears. He tried to make out the figure that had landed a few steps before him, but there was no time. The figure swept up again, like a shadow, and he heard the clean, crisp ringing of metal against metal. 

Camio had been the first to speak, but Metatron had been the first to move. They’d shot up into the air, leaving Uriel standing breathless in the cold.

Uriel thought he’d been careful. He thought he’d found the one place Heaven would never think to look. He thought he’d been safe. He’d been a fool, he realized bitterly. And for what? He could help neither William nor Raguel.

Another crack startled him out of his thoughts.

He waited for the eventual flicker of movement to flit against the mist, but nothing stirred. He waited. 

And waited.

Nothing good would come of waiting in the cold, he realized. He needed to go back inside and check on Raguel, and perhaps send that John Dee to check on his master. Only, he couldn’t move. A chill ran through him, a chill that even the cold fangs of the night could not be blamed for. Someone was watching him, he knew, he _now_ knew, and it had always been that way.

“You seem well, Uriel.” Metatron’s voice seemed to be everywhere as he tried to search for a shape, a movement, a shadow. "It's nice to see you again.

“But that’s not quite true, is it?” He asked, blackness seeping into his voice. “You were watching me. You’ve always known where I was.”

“Perhaps. But we’re allies, aren’t we? We need to watch out for each other.”

“I… I did not agree to…” He couldn’t find the words and he did not think Metatron cared to hear them. How the pain of his attack had been excruciating, how the fear had been worse than that.

“But surely the end will justify the means, won’t it?”

“Why are you hiding? Show yourself!”

In an instant, Metatron materialized before him. He wore the same expression as the last time they had met—one of buoyant happiness and unflinching cruelty.

“What have you done to Camio?”

“That demon? I had to make him go away so we could talk.”

“Where is he?”

“Don’t worry. He’ll be coming back soon. Besides,” Metatron’s hands cupped his face, “I came to see you.” His hands were warm and, for a moment, Uriel thought they were comforting. Enough to ward off the chill in the night and in his own heart. But he knew so much better than that by now.

“What’s wrong, Uriel? You look sad.”

“Of course I am,” he said. “I cannot return to Heaven nor to William's side. I cannot even help Raguel.”

“Poor, poor Uriel,” Metatron sang the words. “Perhaps I should give you some good news?”

“What is it?”

“You may show your face again. You may even deliver your dear friend Raguel to Heaven.”

“What? Has Michael gone?” For a moment his heart leapt.

“No. But it will be very soon now and there will soon be no reason to hide our true intentions.”

Uriel laughed and surprised even himself. "So you're done with the act, Metatron?" His mood had gone from hopeless to sardonic so suddenly he felt like a different person. The Uriel of old perhaps. "Wrapping Michael around your finger wasn't enough for you? You need to destroy him as well?"

Metatron's nails dug into the skin above his cheekbones. Uriel did not feel afraid. For so long he'd walked on glass for Michael. He would not let it happen again.

His eyes narrowed as he took hold of Metatron's wrists and held them down. His grip was not very hard, but it forced Metatron to look up at him. "Do what you like," he said. He felt he was looking into the eyes of Sean Christian and not the angel Metatron. Such wide and innocent eyes did not belong on one so clever. "But you must never involve me, or William, or Raguel, in your plans again. I hope I don't need to remind you that I've made some unlikely acquaintances."

The sound of steel whistled as Camio's ghastly form sprung from the mist. Metatron was gone before Camio brought the blade down in the empty space between Uriel's hands.

"Very well, Uriel. Just know, there is no reason to fear me. The worst of it is over. At least, if Michael behaves himself."

Camio looked at him with stunned eyes. He was soaked, his hair clinging to his face in messy swirls. "What's the meaning of this, Uriel!?"

Uriel tried to answer, but Metatron was too fast. He lunged at Camio, a dagger flashing dangerously close to his abdomen.

"Very commendable. I would expect nothing less of Stratford's head boy!" Their blades met each other, ringing like fractured applause. Again and again the ting of metal rang through the night, their bodies whipping around in calculated assaults. The two sparred and Uriel could see no end to it.

The two of them came close, so close Uriel could feel the air pulse around him. He did not move. 

"I want to know one thing," he shouted. "Why did you release William from the ecstasy?" 

"Because he was a threat," Metatron smiled, a leer of a smile, with all the frenzy of battle and bloodshed.

* * *

William woke to gray light, stretching across the sky like a shawl made of ashes. He felt the rocking then, the tell-tale sway of waves and current, the sound of splashes and silence.

Dantalion’s back stood against the gray stillness like a pyre as William adjusted himself to the feeling of water. They were in a small boat, smaller even than the ones at Stratford. He sat up, looking over the rims, and saw the black sea and nothing else.

“Dantalion?” His voice scratched against his throat.

“William!” Dantalion faced him. There were cuts along his jaw and smears of blood on his neck.

“What happened?”

“That damned Pluto,” Dantalion cursed. “It was trap! That place was infested with demons. Someone must have been sent word that you were here and tried to kill you.”

“Who do you think it was?”

“Hell if I know. Probably Baalberith, or one of Lamatshu’s followers, even Samael maybe.” He looked out fiercely, in the direction of where they had come from. “They must want you dead, but can’t bear to have the blood on their hands. Cowards.”

William was silent. He listened closely to the slapping of the waves against the hull. Normally, it would have made him sick: the water and motion sickness, the betrayal, the feeling of hopelessness welling up like an underwater spring. But all he felt was empty.

“I’m sorry, Dantalion.”

Dantalion turned to him again, eyes of fire brandished with disbelief.

William hung his head. “I’m sorry for bringing you out here and dragging you along.” His fingers felt the boat’s floor, as if searching for a crack, a hole, somewhere all of his sadness could go. “I’m sorry for you all. If you hadn’t been protecting me, if I was stronger, if I was better,” his nails scraped against the bottom. “Then maybe I…”

“William…” Dantalion found his searching hands and held them in his. “I would protect you no matter what you were.”

William wanted so much to believe in those words, to believe in that heartbeat, to believe in the one who protected him from demons, angels, and the truth.

But as the boat moved and moved farther from the shore he knew, his heart shattering, that he was farther away from understanding Dantalion than he ever had been before.

For the first time, William realized he was seeing all of Dantalion. A person he knew, but also a stranger. And he understood it had always been that way. It _would_ always be that way.

“Hey, Dantalion,” he heard himself say.

“What is it William?”

“How did you get over Solomon’s death?”

Dantaion gave a wry smile. William felt himself become lighter.

“I thought differently back then," his words came slow, as if he were searching for them in an endless sea. "When you’re with someone, it’s like you have a different mind, a different way of thinking. You start living each day for that person, for just the thought of that person. You don't notice how much you've changed until that person's gone. But when they're gone, that's it. You go back to the way things were before.”

Dantalion’s voice lowered. “But really, I never got over it, over _him_.  Some people are like that. They linger in your life just out of view. You think you’ve forgotten them, but you can't. They come back when you don’t want them to.” He turned away and faced the ocean. His profile held no emotion, as if he were simply searching for something further out.

“The truth is I don’t want to forget him. I don't want to get over it,” he said. A wind caught his hair and roved through it with etherial fingers. He looked older to William. More burdened. "I'm not ready yet."

There was no place for William's sadness to go. It was so large, so big, that not even the boat or the water below could hope to contain it. He realized that he'd loved Dantalion, and Dantalion had loved a ghost.

“What is this place?” He sounded breathless.

“The Acheron,” Dantalion whispered. "The river of woe." 

* * *

Camio was running out of breath. Every move, every advance, the angel was there, moving with him, against him. He was strong, this angel. 

His first thought was that the angel must be insane. Coming at him with a measly dagger? He had no chance of winning with that. And yet, he was. He blocked every attack, the dagger seeming to absorb the impact. Camio was sure he could have cut through such a flimsy thing, but the metal held, and so did the angel. 

Perhaps that should not have surprised him. He hated fighting, but he was good at it. The blood would rush to his heart and he'd feel his pulse brimming on his fingertips. _Nothing_ made him feel like that. Not the garden of roses and all his hobbies, not John's brotherly teasing, not even Maria. They were _softer_ , things that reminded him he was human. 

But fighting reminded him he was also a demon.

He tried to bring down his sword on the angel's wing, but he was too slow, and cut only air. In the rush, he left himself open and had only seconds to defend as the angel rushed him. Their blades met again and Camio bit his lips; this angel was also good at fighting, but the difference was he looked like he enjoyed it. 

"You're strong. Why haven't I seen you before?" Deadly weapons and even deadlier angels? What else was Heaven hiding?

"Perhaps you have." The angel sprung back and launched at him again. Camio caught it, but almost regretted that he had. The shock to his arm did him no favors, and he had to pull away. 

"Why have you come, angel?" He asked, hoping the angel had some sense in him. Surely, he'd know a peace offering when he saw it. Surely his mind was filled with more than just bloodlust. 

The angel held his dagger to the side. "Just to see an old friend." 

"So the two of you are in league with each other?" He directed his ferocity at Uriel, whose look of shock and discomfiture almost persuaded him of innocence. "What are the two of you planning?" He had no time for this, not when an invasion of Hell seemed immanent. 

"Better yet, don't tell me." He tried to smile the kind of venomous smile he'd seen his enemies use. "I'll enjoy hearing it as your last breath." 

He hated fighting. But killing was different. It was quick, and usually clean. There was nothing complicated about killing. In his world, killing was a _necessity_. 

"There's no need for that." With that, the angel threw the weapon down. It landed in the dirt. 

Camio hesitated for a moment. Now would be the perfect opportunity to strike. But that weapon. Now that he looked at more closely, it seemed almost like the one William had described. He stared hard at the angel and then let his sword disappear, let the residue of his magic be carried by the wind.

"Ah, that was smart of you. If you had attacked me, you would have been dead by now." A figure emerged from the mist behind the angel. It was huge, a giant black shadow that warped into the shape of an angel. 

Camio tried to hide his shock. 

"Consider that a gift," he pointed down at the dagger. "A peace offering, even. It's a fine work of craftsmanship, isn't it?" 

"Why are you doing this?" He asked. 

"I have little interest in fighting demons," he said. "After all, your lot is so much better at destroying each other than we are." 

 _Then why the sparring?_ , Camio wanted to ask. _Why the zealous swordplay?_

"Why are you doing this?" he asked again. 

"Heaven _needs_ Hell," the angel said. "After all, light cannot exist without darkness." 

* * *

William woke to pure darkness. He could not remember falling asleep. The last thing he remembered was watching Dantalion's back, red against gray, and the feeling of the lifeless water. 

His eyes adjusted slightly. He saw little specks of light above and realized they were stars. How long had he been asleep? He rose, but the boat was empty. 

"Dantalion?" He whispered hoarsely. 

He looked around but there were only stars. The sky spilled into the river, a reflection of cosmos suspended in graceful semblance. 

William held his breath, trying to make the picture stay in his mind. It was beautiful. It reminded him of his place in the laws and complexity of the universe.

That's when he noticed the doorway. William knew what it was, but he did not know why he knew. He only knew that he needed to go to it.

The boat guided itself there, cutting against the water, against the stars. 

When he stood up, the boat did not sway. He tried again to jostle it, but it did not give. That was all the proof he needed. He stepped out of the boat and found he could stand on the stillness of the water, the stillness of the universe. Perhaps it wasn't water at all, William realized, but a barrier like the ones Dantalion made.

 _Dantalion._ Something shot up in his heart. A pining, a regret. Or was it a sorrow? 

When he felt the sudden spread of warmth to his cheeks, he squeezed his eyes shut until they burned. Why couldn't things be simple, like the way it was with Mycroft and Isaac? Even Kevin. Dantalion was like a map of stars: bursts of sudden brightness against a gaping and impenetrable darkness. William could understand him no more than he could count all the stars in the sky. 

Was it really so impossible to understand someone?

 _No more!_ , he said to himself. _No more!_ He couldn't wallow in self-pity any longer.

He charged at the doors, running at them headfirst. All the stars seemed to whirl violently as he ran. Before he knew it, the doors were giving way and he was falling down, _down_. He closed his eyes and shut out his thoughts, like surrendering to the tumult of waves.


	17. Chapter 17

William's eyes opened. This time he could make out more than just darkness. There were shapes now. Ahead of him stood a bleak, stone staircase. It looked foreboding at best, but so did his sense of self-preservation. After all, he was no longer standing on the sea of stars, no longer with Dantalion. He was entirely by himself, and it felt that way.

It was only when he stepped on the staircase that he noticed the wind; it whipped harshly against his face and made his hair tickle the nape of his neck. He climbed it carefully, but soon lost track of the time. For some reason, he never grew tired, just weary. His body kept going, but his mind ached for a change in the monotony.  All he could manage was a slow, steady pace against the howling wind. Time didn't seem important here.

The wind was, however. It was all he heard. The air rushed through his ears and drowned out all other sounds. It was everywhere, stinging his face with a punishing vengeance.

He remembered, a long, long time ago, he’d gotten trapped in something like this. A midsummer squall had usurped a calm afternoon, a freak of wind and water pounding down from above and blotting out the sun. It had been too late to run back home.

He’d been too young to be afraid, caught up in the awe of nature and destruction.

It felt the same now. He remembered Kevin had saved him then, running out in the wind and water, throwing caution to the wind. He never heard what Kevin had said to him back then because the noise, the great thundering boom of nature's vengeance, had seemed like it was stealing his voice away. William knew better now, but, as Kevin carried him into the warmth and security of the house, he had believed that Kevin's voice really had been stolen.

It was a strange thing to remember after so many years. It was strange how all these disparate emotions kept coming to the surface. He wanted to drown them all out and just focus on... Sitri? Dantalion? His heart rammed against his ribcage, guilt wrapped around a fragile core. What could he do for them after all they'd done? He pressed against the wind as it bellowed through his shirt, pinning icicles to his skin.

The stairs veered sharply and he felt along the wall to keep his balance. There was no railing and he didn't even think about looking down. He just kept walking and the wind kept hammering and his heart kept jamming against his ribs and echoing in his throat.

That’s when he heard the voice.

 _Welcome, William Twining_. But he didn’t hear it; the wind was too loud to hear anything and the voice was crisp and clear.

“H-how do you know my name? Who are you?” He said, but he didn’t open his mouth. The sound of the words played in his head, with his voice, as if his mind had been expecting what he might say.

The voice did not respond, yet even then, he could hear it, a faint hum at the corner of his periphery.

“Are you a demon?” Again, the words sounded with the same unspoken voice.

The voice laughed, or at least he thought it did. Its laughter was hollow like a long-dried out shell. _The demons were not the first to inhabit this world. I have existed as long as the angels, as long as life itself._

William’s face winced at the words. “Then what are you?”

_I am neither demon nor angel. I do not exist in this world or the others, though my presence is everywhere. But you did not come here to know about me. You seek the one known as Sitri, don’t you?_

“I-I do,” William said, unsure if the answer would help him or condemn him.

 _It’s curious._ The voice spoke with an undulating tone. _Usually a human would not risk his life for a demon. But then, humans are the most foolish of all creatures._

A figure was making its way toward him now, William realized. He could just make out the outline in the darkness. William stopped. Could it be the owner of the voice?

He stopped, expecting to meet the mysterious figure and decide for himself what it was.

But, as the figure came into view, William’s bones ran cold.

It was _him_ , or a version of him. It was William Twining walking down from the stairs, only it was a stairs above his head and upside down. William felt a rush of vertigo culminating at the back of his throat. The William above passed him, walking casually, as if he hadn’t seen his doppelgänger.

“W-what was that?” His voice played in his head, exasperated and panicked.

Again the voice laughed, a dry snapping sound like a branch in a graveyard.

His heart had no time to recover as a screeching sound shrilled over the wind and black splotches hurtled toward him. William shielded his face with his arms. He felt a tickling sensation on his cheek and ducked even closer to the rocks. There he stayed for what might have been an inordinate amount of time if he hadn't felt so panicked and stricken, if time even existed here at all.

When he finally brought his arms down, he felt like laughing at himself. The black splotches were creatures, now perched on the outcroppings of the stair. They stared at him, beaks turned up in curiosity. Black eyes, black beaks, black feathers. Birds. They were just ordinary birds with their feathers ruffling in the wind. William couldn’t help but feel relieved and astonished at the absurdity of this place.

Years ago, months ago, he would have assumed he was dreaming. Strange, inexplicable things only happened in dreams, didn’t they? He used to think those absurd dreams were comforting, even the nightmares, because that's all they would ever be.

He knew better now.

There was magic in the world and the more he thought about it, the more he realized that his life had made so much more sense before discovering it. Now, he had to figure out all these new rules. It was almost overwhelming.

 _You seem angered._ The voice had timing, he gave it that.

“I am in fact.” The consonants echoed in his head like a terse last word.

_Even if it’s about something that can’t be helped._

“Everything can be helped!” He said it louder than expected, although he hadn't said it at all. There was anger in it, he knew, and a terrible, irrational frustration. It was like the voice was delving into his head as if it were a pond, mixing it around with a stick, and making the pond scum float to the surface.

Dantalion could do that to him, too. He wasn't even sure how Dantalion even managed to do it, but he was good at it. Even when he didn't mean to.

 _The truth is I don’t want to forget him. I don't want to get over it._ Now it was it was Dantalion's words echoing in his head, playing out the conversation they'd had in the boat. _  
_

"I don't want to forget him. I don't want to get over it." These were his own words, played in his head with his own voice.

He suddenly yanked himself from his thoughts. He’d been climbing the staircase. Already, the roosting birds were merely indistinguishable shades of black against a greater darkness.

“What is this place? Why does it make me feel this way?”

_Limbo._

And it seemed, at that moment, that the darkness closed in and he started to fall.

* * *

Uriel sat for a long time by the fire. He’d told Camio everything: William’s abduction, Metatron’s rebellion, and even his own part in the proceedings.

Camio had been silent, leering, drying the dripping sea water from his skin and hair. He couldn't figure out why Metatron had appeared and then, just simply, left. He wanted answers.

"Is he trying to show his strength? That he's stronger than Michael?"

"I can't say." Uriel didn't have the answers. He'd left them behind when he sought out refuge in a demon's house.

"And yet you don't seem to oppose him, playing the double-agent."

Now Camio's eyes glowed cold: topaz in an abandoned mine.

“Is he really the leader you want to work for?”

The question caught Uriel by surprise. His eyes narrowed. “What are you suggesting?”

“I’m giving you a choice,” Camio said. As always, there was a meticulous seriousness in his voice, as if the whole world and all the ones after depended on it.

Uriel’s mind reeled. It was unimaginable that Camio had even asked him such a thing. _How dare you_ , he wanted to say, but he knew the words wouldn’t hold their weight. Metatron had come to Camio seeking not an alliance, but peace. There was no reason for him to invade Hell. Of course, disputes over territory in the human world would continue as they always had—angels and demons would never run out of reasons to kill each other—but Metatron seemed to genuinely want peace.

From such a perspective, he seemed to be the ideal leader. But his aptitude for manipulation made Uriel shake. Could he survive another Michael? Or something worse?

“Of course,” Camio leaned back, his voice getting easier, as if sensing Uriel’s hesitation, “you’d stay as you are. I couldn’t ask you to fall. Just… your allegiance would lie elsewhere.”

Uriel gnawed on the thought. It was appealing. It was appalling.

"I need time," he finally said. The fire crackled, the wood almost hissing at it burned.

"You don't have much." Camio said, rising from the chair.

It was just like a demon, Uriel thought, it was just like one of those dark, unforgivable creatures to give him a choice that wasn't really a choice at all. But hadn't they _all_ done that? Michael and Metatron. Even Solomon, in a way. Hadn't they put him up against two sides and asked him to choose. Only, none of the choices had ever been very different after all. He was tired of playing someone else's games.

"Wait, Camio!" He spoke with an authority in his voice he thought had been dormant for too long. "I have an answer."

Camio faced him, arms crossed against his chest. It was every bit the expression of power that Uriel had been expecting. No matter who, he knew what power looked like, how one attained it with their body, how one lost it with their body.

"I...," Uriel started, although he didn't know how he would finish. And, as it happened, he never would.

"Camio!" John's voice rang through the halls. "We've got a problem!"

* * *

Only, William soon realized, he was falling upwards. The stairs disappeared and so did the rocks and the birds. He fell and fell away until he was in what must have been the sky. He could see the stars, after all. Bright and sparkling, so close he could almost touch them.

“What is this?” He asked, the words sounding in his head with awe.

_The place where souls rest. Isn’t it what you came to find?_

“Yes. But…”

He was here finally, about to achieve what he wanted to do. And yet…

“These are souls, aren’t they?” He asked to the shining lights around him. He held a curious finger to one and something flowed over him instantly. It was more than voices in his head, pain and power and hope and fear. It was everything that a life was made up of wrapped tight into a single, screaming moment.

William shuddered. It felt intrusive, like joining a conversation he hadn’t been invited into.

 _Choose wisely_ , the voice said.

“Choose?” Was it asking him to choose? To pull a soul back from the brink of existence?

“But why?” He asked it. “Why do they need to come here? Why do they need to sleep if they just die anyway?” It seemed like a long, drawn-out way to suffer. Was that the punishment for living so long?

_That’s just the way things are._

He looked around. There were too many souls to count. His hand grazed a constellation of them and suddenly there was whispered pleading in his ears: they promised him everything. Power, fame, fortune, his heart’s deepest desires, if he just chose them.

Too bad, William thought. If they’d only heard about the elector, they might have reconsidered their requests. Still, he pitied them. There was no joy here. It was a wide, silent, lonely place. William searched, floating in the miasma of their sorrows.

Suddenly he was propelled away, into the emptiness.

“What’s going on?” His lips moved but there was no sound.

 _You can only choose one_ , the voice said, as if it was smiling. William tried to move back to the souls, but something blocked his path, a wall almost like glass. He pounded at it with his fists.

“Wait! I’m not done! I haven’t found him yet!”

He heard it laughing again.

“Please. Wait…”

* * *

William did not remember ever leaving the strange place. His conscious spurred from under his unopened eyes, but even then, it felt like an impossible amount of time had passed.

The boat rocked sharply and William’s eyes flew open.

He saw Dantalion first, standing above him, but not looking at him. His gaze was focused, intense. Then he heard the buzzing. He sat up, mystified, as if tearing himself out of a dream and into a nightmare. A dark splotch was encroaching on the horizon. Terrible, winged creatures were moving in like a storm cloud,their bodies pressed so closely against each other they almost seemed to be one mass. Whenever one broke from the swarm, Dantalion would hurl a ball of flame at it.

“Dan… talion?” His head was hurting, and he realized it must have slammed against the gunwale.

“William!” Dantalion tore his gaze from the creatures. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he said, adjusting to an upright position. The creatures shrieked and his eyes shot up. They were circling around now, too many for Dantalion to destroy all at once.

He tried, though. William felt the heat brush against his face as it left Dantalion’s open palms.

“Damn!” He shouted. For every one he incinerated, another broke away from the flock. They were waiting for something now, the circle becoming thicker. William felt Dantalion’s hand on his shoulder.

Suddenly, the bottom of the boat was glowing. William realized what is was.

“You need to get in the portal, William, it’s too dangerous here.” There was too much in Dantalion’s eyes, too much of something that William couldn’t hold on to.

“Y-you’re not coming?” His voice trembled. Something had shaken him in that other world.

“I need to teach them once and for all who they’re messing with.” Then his eyes were fire and he was turning away to face the horrible swarm. A monster among monsters.

The portal gleamed but William didn’t move. “You’re all fools!” He yelled. “Always hurling yourselves into danger! No wonder you’re all here!” He couldn’t stop himself. The tears streamed down his face and his fists clenched, nails digging into his skin. “No wonder this place is Hell!”

“William.” Dantalion’s voice was softer now. He could hardly hear it through the screeching.

“William…” Dantalion said again. The fire in his eyes had died down to embers. “That’s just the way things are.”

“No!” William slammed his hands against the portal. It flickered, as if sensing its creator’s hesitation …”It doesn’t..." But a shrieking drowned out all his words. The flying things were rushing toward them and there was nothing Dantalion could do in so short a time. At once, William felt a jolt and lost his balance. The world went upside down and suddenly he was plunging into the water below. 

He gasped and water filled his mouth and throat. In the watery haze, he saw a flicker and tried to call out again-

and inhaled a rush of cold air. He sat up and coughed, the water sputtering out of his lungs. He looked around. He was surround by a forest. Silent trees hovered over him and the snow was powdery to his fingertips. There was nothing else to do but stand up and shiver.

His back hunched over, his teeth chattered, and he held his arms close enough to feel his heartbeat. He was soaking wet, without a jacket, and the chill seemed unforgiving, dropping quicker and quicker. The light in the forest was dimming and he guessed it was close to nighttime. Nighttime in the human world. 

He almost cursed. How could Dantalion just do that? Leave him here to suffer the cold while he fought off an impossible hoard of demons. Selfish, he decided. They were all selfish. He could only register the sound of his footfalls as he tried to make his way out the woods.

At last, lights came into view. He was shivering, and tired, a just wanted to go home. Perhaps he could even trick himself into believing it'd been a dream. There was no way that Sytry was dead, that Kevin would abandon him, that Dantalion was making his last stand. Perhaps he'd go right back to his routine as a shining student of Stratford and forget the whole thing had ever happened. It would be so easy. It was all he ever wanted.

And yet, wetness welled up behind his eyes when he thought of it. As if he could ever forget them, even if they did leave. His fists trembled terribly and he had to hold them together to release the tension. Just then, he noticed that something had dropped to the ground. He picked it up, examining it. It was no bigger than a piece of hail, and yet it glowed with its own light.

A soul, he realized.

He'd really done it. He'd taken a soul back with him. It seemed like such a fragile thing, a demon’s soul. It flickered every now and then, like a star in the distance, waiting to breathe its last. How could a rough exterior hide such a feeble thing?

"Is it you? Are you really..."

The sound of footsteps stopped him.

Someone was coming nearer. Instinctively, he hid the soul in his pocket.

"William! I've finally found yoU!" A familiar voice said.

William blinked, trying to make sense of the shape in the dim the light.

"Isaac?" He called out. That was what the voice sounded like, but it had a strange edge to it.

"I've been looking forEVER. I thought PERhaps you were takEN to Hell, but I see you're back nOW."

William stepped backwards. The figure coming closer _was_ Isaac, but there was nothing Isaac about the lurching way it walked or the words it spoke in its bitter-honeyed tone.

"Who are you? What have you done with Isaac?"

The Isaac-looking thing back closer. It grinned at him.

"IsAAC was such a good bOY. He was so exCITED when I gAVE him this toY." Isaac pulled out a knife. It glowed in the moonlight like a soul, but a colder, emptier color.

He recognized that knife. It was the same one he had killed Sytry with.

"Are you reADY to cOME back now, WilLIAM?"

Isaac raised the knife and William took off, bounding through the forest. But the ground was slick and Isaac seemed to run with speed and reflexes that he'd never had before. William leapt over half-submerged tree roots and pitfalls, but he'd never been very fast. Isaac stabbed a tree just as he was closing in on him and William gave himself a few seconds to catch his breath.

Then he was running again.

But there was no way to lose him. William skidded on a melting patch of snow and lost his balance, colliding headfirst with a tree trunk. The fall left his head smarting and his vision blurred. He could just make out the figure approaching him and a hand held out as if to strike.

 


	18. Chapter 18

Michael couldn’t say he had _always_ liked Chess. The Saints that came to Heaven would play it, and he'd watched them while away the hours of immortality. They'd pulled him into a game once and he thought he remembered enjoying it, but he hadn't loved it then. Only when he'd seen how the game was so much like their lives, how the most important piece was also the weakest, he'd started to understand.

“You’re losing, Your Holiness,” Sandalphon said.

“I don’t care, keep going.”

“I will soon put you in check, Your Holiness."

“I don’t care, keep going.”

And so he lost, backed into a corner by… by… There was something about Sandalphon that had always reminded him of a rook. The huge tower, only moving in one direction. It could be devastating, but it lacked personality.

“Would you like to play again?” Sandalphon asked.

“No.” Michael stood and crossed his arms. The loss still stung, but his mind was on other things. After all, he’d finally found a use for Sandalphon. What he didn’t like was… was…

“Where is Metatron?” he asked. It seemed he was always asking this question.

“Business in the human world,” Sandalphon said in such a straightforward way that Michael almost smiled. The rook comparison had been right.

Michael leaned against the wall. He wanted to forget about Metatron's comforting words and the way his arms felt. He'd never wanted Metatron to do that, but he hadn't found a way to resist him either. Perhaps it had been a moment of weakness when he'd fallen in Metatron's arms. His only other choice had been the floor, after all. He closed his eyes and tried to rip away the embarrassment from the situation, but his mind could not reach an accord with his heart. He wanted to see Metatron again and he wanted him to disappear forever.

 _He's just like my brother_ , he thought. But these feelings were new and strange and different, too. He wanted to push them down and cast them away, but heartache had no wings he could tear off, no hands he could crush and send below.

He knew why he hated these feelings. He couldn't control them. This time, when sleep came, he made no resistance. He wanted to wash away those thoughts and the image of the person that came with them.

When he woke again, no one was there.

He called for Sandalphon, but there was no answer. There was no one in sight as he searched the room, and then the halls.

Finally, he screamed. The halls echoed and then were silent.

Again he was fading. Michael saw himself in every reflection, every polished surface, and knew it would not be much longer. It could not be much longer.  
When was the last time he’d invaded Hell? It seemed so long now. And at that time, Uriel, Gabriel, and Raphael had been at his side. They were gone now and he'd been foolish to think that they would stay with him forever.

“They all leave in the end, don’t they?” He said to himself, bitterly.

He wanted Uriel, suddenly. He wanted Uriel writhing and screaming in pain. He didn't care if there was no point to it. He wanted someone. Something to control.

* * *

 Metatron sat at the table, face framed by his splayed palms.

“—and his guard?” Raziel was animated today, although the same could be said of him most days.

“Subdued. Without their leader, they had no way of fending off our attacks.” Azrael pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He was hunched over the table, calculating the remaining number of troops from the reports.

“The remainder of Uriel’s squadron was helpful in that regard.” Zachariel grinned, the same smirk written on his face as when the whole thing had begun. “Ah, yes, that reminds me. Where is our dear friend Uriel?”

“He’ll come home soon. I’ve seen to that matter personally, after all.” Metatron remarked.

"And that _other_ matter?" Azrael interjected. His pen had stopped mid-calculation, as if he were waiting on another variable.

Metatron sighed wistfully. "I wonder where it could have wandered off to."

* * *

Michael hadn't found Uriel. The cells were empty, and so too, it seemed, were Metatron's words.

Why had he given in so easily? Comforting words and soft promises should have never swayed him. And yet, he'd given himself over to a human and human emotions.

The rage built up in him first, enough to incinerate the caverns into roaring infernos. But no. That was something only demons did. 

He headed directly to the workroom. Uriel’s name burned white hot in his mind. He wanted to destroy him and cast him down; he should have done that ages ago. But there was something else he could do to Uriel. Something, he thought, that might claw at his heart fiercer than the pain of falling.

* * *

William's head throbbed with pain. He closed his eyes, uninterested in seeing how it all ended. Isaac must be close now, something in his mind screamed. Run! Run! But his legs refused to do anything but shake. Run, damn you! Run before you're—

A sharp noise filled his ears. It was only for an instant, but it held all the sound of drowned dreams and shattering regret. _Is this what death sounds like?_ , William wondered. _Wait, no. If my mind still works then..._

“That should hold him off for a while,” a voice said above him. “In the meantime, are you okay?”

William looked up. Mathers was offering him a hand.

“W-what’s going on?” William stammered. His head whipped around, mobility and memory coming back in jumpy starts. The mist curled through the forest, languid forms shrinking back to inky darkness.  He didn't see Isaac. “What happened to him?” he heard himself say.

“He broke my barrier,” Mathers explained as he helped William to his feet. “It sent him flying, though. Hopefully, he landed in a patch of snow."

When William rose to his feet, he recounted the events in his head. “So that really was Isaac.”

“It was and it wasn’t.” Mathers shrugged.

William breathed. His ears were ringing. He didn't know how long they'd been ringing. He stared through the trees. The lights of Stratford were dabs of color smeared by the night.“Isaac isn’t the only one like that, is he?” 

Mathers put his hands in his pockets. His usual wily expression seemed powdered with unease. “You should probably come with me.” William followed as Mathers walked away from the lights and into the thick of the forest. He could feel every nerve in his body jilt whenever he heard a sound. The creak of a branch made his heart dive in his chest.

“They started acting like that just about an hour ago,” Mathers whispered. “I have no idea who gave them those knives.”

William would have told Mathers he had an idea, but fear kept him cautious and silent. He tried to focus on the rhythmic crunch of their footfalls, but his mind kept surging back and forth.

“Here we are," Mathers said as a cottage came into view.

The first of William's misgivings started to melt. The cottage looked like something from a children's book, both magical and familiar. Mathers opened the door and William felt the burst of warm air from the hearth.

“Hey there.” A familiar voice greeted them.

“J-John Dee?”

John Dee flashed him a smile. He seemed well enough, exactly like the last time William had seen him.

He stood in the middle of the room. It was simply furnished, but the wood almost gleamed with gold from the impossibly bright fire. A couple of younger students surrounded the fireplace. They did not turn around as William entered.

“What’s going on here?” William asked.

John came up to him. "Long time no see."

"I-I just want to know what's going on." He could feel the cold air hitting his back, almost like it was reminder to not get too comfortable.

"Okay. All right," John started, his head cocking up as if he'd been called on to explain Latin grammar in its entirety. “The whole campus’s gone to hell—er, not exactly, but you know what I mean. Students are running around with those cursed weapons. It's like they've been possessed or something. Anyway, it seems that when we take those things away from them, they return to normal.” John frowned, regarding the boys. “They’re still pretty shaken up though.” Then he turned to William. A bright expression grew on his face. “But how are you?”

Before William knew it, John was fussing over his wet clothing and shoving the boys away from the fire. "No wonder you're in such a miserable mood! There you are.”

Even though there were questions buzzing in his head, William allowed himself a few moments by the fire. Instinctively, he touched his pocket and felt the soul safely tucked away there. Just as William was starting to relax, John came up to him.

“Come with me, I’ve got some extra clothes somewhere around here.”

They left Mathers and the other boys in the fire-lit room and entered a room at the back of the cottage. John shut the door behind them.

“You should find some clothes in the closet there. Sometimes Camio sends me to Stratford and this is where I stay.”

"Is that how you knew me when we met that time?” He tried to sound annoyed, but couldn't.

“Nah, that was just guess work.”

William turned to inspect the closet. John was still by the door when William spread the clothing on the bed. 

"So you still want to talk, do you?"

John nodded.

“This is about Mathers, isn’t it?”

“How’d you know?”

“Guesswork.” William's eyes were still on the clothing.

John grinned. “But in all seriousness, do you trust him? He seems to know what’s up, strangely enough.”

“And what _is_ up?” William narrowed his eyes.

“Well, sometimes it helps to be a fly on the wall,” John started. “And this was one of those—”

“So you really have been spying on me.” This time there was a little more feeling in his voice. He was steadily getting back to himself.

“Not just you—the area in general—in order to keep out any threats.”

“And that’s been a success,” came William's snarky reply. He wondered why he was undercutting so many of his words with pessimism. “Anyway, it’s Heaven, isn’t it? The ones who are using the students.”

“More guesswork, I see.” John didn’t seem upset at all, however.

“I’ve seen that weapon before,” was all William said.

“Apparently, someone up there gave it to every student at school.” He cupped his chin and brushed the hairs of his beard with his thumb. “I suppose a public school is the perfect target, bright minds, the fear of god in them…” John sighed. “Didn’t work on me though.”

“So they come back when you take the weapons away? It’s not true ecstasy?”

“I suppose not.”

“So all we have to do is disarm them.”

“That’s the thing though…” John looked down. “It’s tricky. After all, we know what those blades can do.”

William didn’t have a witty comeback this time. He couldn’t think to say much of anything.

“But we’ll try anyway," John filled his silence. "Camio’s out there right now.”

“What? Camio’s here?” William’s eyes went wide. “But he can’t do it alone, can he?”

“He’s not alone.” The way John said it made William think there would be more, but this time John stayed silent.

“And about Mathers,” William said. “I think we can trust him with this.” Then he cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind, I’d really like to change now.”

John didn’t make him wait a second longer.

As soon as he was changed, William took the soul out of his pocket and placed it in the new one. He couldn’t tell how much time he had left to return it to where it belonged. There were no guidebooks, nothing he could study, no grimoires or spells or magic. He couldn't help the feeling that he felt useless in spite of everything. Again and again they were protecting him and the school he attended.

William entered the room once again. John and Mathers seemed engaged in a deep conversation, but they suddenly stopped when they saw him.

“We’re gonna head out and see if we can’t disarm a few more,” John said.

“Let me come with you.”

John’s expression twisted into something like awkward incredulity. Mathers’ smile might have showed a reserved pride.

“Well, I guess you can…” John started.

“Has your magic improved since we last met?” Mathers cut in.

“Well, not exactly.”

Mathers shook his head. “Nevermind that then. Come along.”

They ushered William into the chill of the night again. This time William was equipped to ward it off, although he wondered if it was more demon magic that made the clothes he’d found fit perfectly and feel so warm.

The night was still and no one talked. Snow and twigs crunched under their feet, but William was less jittery then he’d been before. On the quiet walk, his mind kept wandering to Dantalion. Was he okay, or was he still fighting those things? Shouldn’t he be back by now? William hated not knowing the answer to that. Dantalion must have faced worse things, right? He tried to tell himself there was no basis for worrying, but his mind had always been an active one and it wouldn't stop now. _Just, please, let him be all right_. He didn't know who he was asking or if there was any point in praying for the safety of a demon.

By the time that the school came into view, his heart was again beating with anticipation.

Mathers and John gathered behind the trees. Shapes were moving in the moonlight, dissolving into shadows if William focused on them too long.

“They seem to be centered around the church,” John whispered as he pointed to the building. William could just make out the dark, looming shadow on the other side of the courtyard. He'd never listened to the stories of it being haunted, but tonight it seemed to have a certain chill to it. Shadows milled about in the space in-between, as if there was no particular direction they cared to follow. On the far side, he saw swifter movements and flashes of light.

“That must be Camio.” William was desperate to see him too, but he waited until John and Mathers deemed it was safe to move. After some time, they crept out from behind the trees and used the school’s buildings as cover.

William had never liked roaming the campus at night. He'd had too many calls about broken rules and underclassmen and satanic rituals. The latter had only been Isaac's doing, but especially in the winter, he'd dreaded having to go out and punish the miscreants. Tonight was no different, only this time it was the whole school that was breaking curfew and he had no prefect title or lines of Latin to scare them off with.

Just as they were coming on to the second building, William caught something moving from the corner of his eye. He had just enough time to dash forward as a student lunged at him.

By the time William looked back, John had called up a barrier and Mathers had started throwing spells. The glow of the blade illuminated a face William hadn't expected to see.

“M-Mycroft?” he gulped.

Mycroft Swallow lunged at him again.

John was beside him in an instant, fending off the attack. Mathers tried to get a clear shot, but Mycroft ignored the magic, attacking the barrier with deliberate persistence. He’d been groomed for a life in the military, William remembered.

“He seems to be coming after you,” John observed. The barrier was cracking from the repeated strikes and Mathers’ spells didn’t seem to be working. “We need to get out of here."

The barrier splintered. Just as Mycroft pulled back for another shot, a bolt of lightning surged in front of him. Mycroft stepped back and Camio shouldered him to the ground. The barrier broke around them with a crashing sound.

“Get the knife, John!” Camio called. John crept over Mycroft’s hunched figured. When he tried to reach for it, Mycroft sprang to his feet, blade dangerously close to John’s fingers. John reeled back, and Mycroft ran for it.

“Watch out for that one,” Camio said under his breath as Mycroft disappeared.

“D-do you think we can save him?” William asked.

“Undoubtedly,” Camio said. Sometime later, William would realize it was the customary Headboy nod, complete with knowing eyes and a calm smile. He didn’t realize it then, however. There was someone else approaching them. Someone familiar.

“It’s you!” William’s felt his heart beat for the first happy reason that night.

“Young master!” Kevin said as he walked toward the group. Two dazed students were sheltered under his white robe.

“Kevin!” William ran to him. “I—are you all right?”

“I’m fine, young master." He seemed the same as always, but his expression was stern, as if was thinking hard about something. "How are you?”

“I don’t think I’m fine, but I’m better now.” He did feel better, in spite of the cold and Mycroft's sudden appearance.

“Twining? Headboy?” One of the boys under Kevin’s care said. “What are you two doing here? Where are we?”

“Looks like they’re coming to.” Camio was still on guard, scanning the area for more.

“Okay boys!” John announced, his jovial tone breaking the serious mood . “If you could please make your way toward me, I could show you to a nice, warm place.”

“Anything to get out of this weather,” the second boy grumbled as he followed John into the woods.

William’s first instinct was to question Kevin: where had he been all this time? Why was he here, all of a sudden? Those questions, however, would have to wait.

He could make out the swarm of boys circling around the church. Camio, in the meantime, had intercepted another couple of boys. Flashes of green light lit up the darkness.

“I apologize for not coming sooner, young master. Circumstances kept me away.” He sighed. His eyes were black even when the light shined on them. “I’ll tell you everything at a more convenient time.” His gaze then traveled to Mathers where it hardened into a glare.

William thought at once to break the tension.

“Why are you helping us, Count?”

“I can’t stand seeing humans used as pawns.”

"Stay close to me," Kevin whispered to him. William nodded and they made their way out into the courtyard.

He watched as Camio lured a student away from the others. With a gentle blast of magic, Camio managed to disarm the student. The other students paid no attention to this, as if they'd been ordered not to leave their posts. Mathers, too, was employing a similar strategy with the same results.

 _Why just one by one?_ William wondered.

He observed the scene closer and noticed that the air seemed to shimmer around the church.

"It's a barrier."

"Yes, it is." Kevin's expression seemed to be straining. "I've managed to keep the largest concentration of them inside of it." The boys circled around the church. No wonder they seemed to walk so aimlessly. They were trapped.

Each time a boy took a swipe at the barrier, Kevin let out a gasp.

"Kevin?"

"It's all right, young master. This barrier should hold for the rest of the night."

Just then, William heard voices. Whispering, getting closer.

A group of students had invaded the courtyard, their empty faces pall against the light of the moon. William realized their blank gazes were fixed on the church.

"What's going on?"

He watched at the students spread out. William noticed the one leading the group was Mycroft. Mycroft said something and the other boys broke into a run.

"Kevin! Watch out!"

The boys attacked the barrier, their blades slashing at it until cracks splintered the surface.

Kevin screamed and fell to his knees.

"Kevin!"

Meanwhile, Camio and Mathers had rejoined them.

"The barrier is breaking. We don't have much time. We need to get out of here," Camio said. 

"Where do you suggest we go?" Mathers crossed his arm.

"The woods. We'll wait them out there."

"We can't lead them to the others. We should split up."

"Very well. I'll-" But Camio never finished. The barrier burst with a horrible splitting sound that rent at William's ears. The students poured out and started to head straight for them. Camio and Mathers began to flee, but William stood still. Kevin was still on his knees coughing up black, splattering blood.

"We need to go William!"

"I can't!"

He tried to get Kevin to stand, but his body was dead weight in his arms.

"Please go, young master." Kevin's voice was raspy and weak.

"I can't leave you." _I've left enough people all ready!_

"William!" Camio shouted. A glowing portal spread from his feet, but just before it reached William, it fizzled into sparks.

"It can't be..." Camio's shocked words reached William a moment later than it should have.

Hesitantly, William reached a hand out in front of him. His fingers were met with something solid.

"Another barrier?" But that was impossible, Kevin was still heaving on the ground and Camio and Mathers had wanted to retreat.

"William, try to get away." Camio called from somewhere. The students were rushing toward them.

Kevin was still breathing heavily, but the coughing had stopped. He moved slowly, his footing unsteady as he finally rose to his feet.

"Kevin..." Before William's eyes, Kevin sent a surge of power toward the barrier. It bounced back, knocking him off his feet once again. In the rush, William nearly missed the silhouette in front of the barrier. 

Mycroft’s blank face stared back at him. "Allow me." Mycroft swiped his arm and the barrier fell around him. It was only then that William saw the sea of faces, dull eyes and shining blades surrounding him.

"Why are you doing this Mycroft?" William demanded.

Without warning, Mycroft rushed him. The blade cut close enough to slash through William’s clothing.

“Are you all right, young master?” Kevin called out. William ran a hand down his chest: he didn’t feel any blood. 

Just then, he noticed something small and glowing rolling towards Mycroft’s feet.

“N-no…” William heard himself gasp.

“Twining…” The voice was undeniably Mycroft Swallow’s.

“Mycroft?” William gave a hesitant whisper. “Is it really you, Mycroft?”

“I’ve done a lot of praying since my father died, Twining. I’ve prayed that his soul may enter Heaven despite being sullied by a demon.”

William waited. Perhaps Mycroft hadn’t noticed the soul at his feet. Perhaps, if he could create a diversion, he’d be able to get it back and get out of here.

“And the angels have answered my prayers!” He spread out his arms for merely a second before going back to his offensive stance. He pointed his blade at William. “They say the demon that possessed my father was because of you.”

“Mycroft! I… if I had known that would happen…”

“Enough! Come face me!” He threw a blade at William’s feet.

“I-I can’t.” Mycroft's once pleasant expression had twisted into something horrible and strange. But it was still Mycroft, William knew. It was still his friend and he never wanted to hurt his friends ever again.

Mycroft took a step closer, his foot precariously close to the soul.

“No! Don’t come any closer!” William held out his hand, but it was too late.

Mycroft lifted his shoe over the soul. “You want this, don’t you?”

“Is that…. it can’t be…” William heard Kevin whisper.

“More demon magic,” Mycroft said with disgust. “I should destroy it right now.” His shoe started to press down on it.

“NO! Stop!” William screamed. “You don’t understand what that is.”

“It doesn’t matter what it is.” Mycroft picked up the soul, not a moment wasted in his swift movements. “You want it, and I want you.”

William hesitantly bent down to pick up the blade.

“You can’t! Young master!” William's hand trembled as he examined the blade. He remembered its weight. He remembered the gleeful feeling of plunging it into Sitri. His stomach dropped.

“If any of you intervene,” Mycroft said, “I will crush this.” He held blade point dangerously close to the soul.

“Okay, Swallow. I’ll come.” William took the first few steps closer. The students made a wall around the both of them, closing everyone out except the two of them. 

Mycroft waited as William made his approach.

They circled each other, blades out. It reminded William of the dances he’d seen at the Swallow’s house in the Cotswolds. He hadn’t danced that day, but he’d appreciated the elegance and simplicity of those dances.

“L-listen Swallow—No, Mycroft—we don’t have to do this.”

“Talking is the crutch of cowards.”

Mycroft charged. His knee bent as he thrust the blade at William’s stomach. William jumped away as Mycroft took another swipe, this time at his extended arm. William held his guard and their blades touched for a moment. A surge of power went through William’s body and the dagger was forced from his fingertips. The shockwave sent him sprawling on the ground.

William was dazed for a few moments. Coughs erupted in his throat. When he finally managed to open his eyes, Mycroft was standing in front of him.  His blade rippled with sparks of light.

“I won’t attack a disarmed man. Get up and retrieve your weapon.”

William rose to his feet slowly.

“I see you still have that sense of honor, Mycroft," he took a heavy breath, "but this isn’t a fair fight.”

There was a flicker in Mycroft’s eyes, just a hint of the person hiding beneath.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve known I’ve never been much for physical activities. That’s always been your forté, hasn’t it, Mycroft?”

“Then what do you propose, Twining?”

William pointed to his head. “Allow me to battle you with a weapon I’ve been cultivating over the years.”

Mycroft’s features changed slightly, as if he were deep in thought. _It really_ is _you_ , William wanted to say.

“Fine, Twining. But I won’t hold back.”

“William!” He heard a shout from behind. When he turned, he saw a book flying in his direction. Mathers grinned. “Catch!”

The grimoire hit his shoulder and slid into his arms. He muttered a brief incantation to light up the text so he could read.

“I’m waiting, Twining.”

“Call me William!” William smiled. His body trembled, but he no longer felt afraid. The tingling at his fingertips was a welcome one as it pulsed in the air around him. He gathered the magic and then the snow. It swirled before him, but he didn’t feel cold. He raised a hand, willing the magic to form something solid. He could make out Mycroft’s outline, but he couldn’t read his expression. Just as well, he thought.

The students around them had moved away, congregating by the church one more.

“Spirit of wind!” A howling current of air sprang from William’s fingertips.

The vortex hit Mycroft head on. But it wasn’t enough. Through the air and snow, Mycroft came running, one palm on the hilt of the blade, the other holding it steady. William could feel the magic crumbling as Mycroft sped forward, as if the blade were ripping it to shreds. William focused his energies on the spell, calling on the magic strengthen itself.

The howling grew louder and Mycroft’s pace slowed to a march. He started slashing at the air. William could feel the magic fall in clumps, but he focused harder. His temple was throbbing and his fingertips felt raw. The winds screamed, blowing snow and dust, yet still Mycroft cut them down in a beautiful arc of light.

He knew all he needed was one strong gust to knock the blade out of Mycroft’s hand. William concentrated his powers on that hand. His world became a tunnel, just Mycroft and that shining blade. He could see Mycroft's grip start to falter. Almost there. Just a little more...

The winds shuddered around him and the magic started to flow through his hands without restraint. The winds jumped from one direction to another, sometimes ahead of him, sometimes rushing up to favor Mycroft. William was losing control. The more he tried to grasp it, the more it fled from his fingertips like water droplets.

The winds were dying and Mycroft was coming.

With one more burst, William called on the winds to surrender themselves to him. He summoned them, calling them by their old names, ones they hadn’t heard for centuries. They flowed over his skin as quick at the blood through his veins. He could hear their voices, which weren’t voices at all, but images, snippets of screams and laughter, spells and prayer. These were the winds that had ground mountains into dust and smashed ships against the rocks.

It was difficult to breathe. William chocked on tiny sips of air. Mycroft had slowed once again, this time blocking the worst of the gusts with an arm against his face. His hand was trembling.

This was the time. William focused again, willing the wind into one tiny space, to a ball of force, so he could disarm Mycroft. The wind protested again, changing direction furiously. It sent images into his head of ripping out tree roots, of tearing down buildings.

No! William shouted in his mind. I must…

 _We are not your demons, Solomon._ The wind spoke through images: a king and demons and chains. _You do not control us._ The chains broke. He was no longer in control.

A funnel of wind roared through William, swiping the grimoire from his hand. The book went flying. William's body erupted in pain as raw, biting energy surged up inside of him.

* * *

Michael wanted to be wrong. He wanted to believe it was Uriel, all Uriel's plan to get himself to the top. But Uriel had never been the ambitious type. When he thought of ambition, he though of humans. Michael slid into Metatron's room silently. It was easy to imagine Metatron here, surrounded by sweet things and toys. His fingers lingered gingerly on the surfaces of ornate tables and finely crafted chairs. It would be easy to imagine himself here, too. He imagined giving in to Metatron's sweetness and soft words and giving himself over to the emotions that were plaguing his heart.

He imagined it, but it wasn't real.

His hand touched his chest.

He'd known betrayal before. He'd known how the bitter feeling tore at his insides. But he also knew how to fill the voids of loneliness with anger. He knew how to stand alone, how to be alone.

He knew how _this_ worked.

But he'd grown tired of knowing.

A wave of dizziness hit him suddenly. It raked his mind, and pain spread through his body. He lurched toward the bed, the black spots spreading over his eyes. There was something already there, but he pushed it aside and collapsed on the bed. It smelled of Metatron: something of sweetness, something of the earth.

_Something of snow._

A voice woke him.

“Till the villain left the paths of ease, to walk in perilous paths, and drive, the just man to barren climes.”

Michael's eyes opened, the haze of sleep still drifting through his mind.

“I once knew a boy who followed only reason, because his desire was weak enough to be restrained.”

He could see Metatron seated at a table. He was reading.

“But, when he truly listened to his soul, it wasn’t reason that spoke to him.”

Metatron shut the book and came toward him.

“The most sublime act is to set another before you.” Metatron's eyes were a deep red, the color of God's wrath and the Nile and first born blood.

At once, Michael tried to flee from the bed, but Metatron held him down. Something cold touched his arm.

"Look Michael." Fear pulsed through Michael's body. He didn't want to look, but Metatron pushed at his face until he was forced to.

A demon's corpse lay beside him. He struggled, but the sleep had made him weak and Metatron was strong.

"Look at the lovely body I've found for you."


	19. Chapter 19

“Only, I _would_ say that,” Metatron went on as his hand pressed down on Michael’s chest. “But I’ve grown attached to this body and the soul that inhabits it.”

He frowned, a pondering sort of frown that Michael would have sneered at if he hadn’t been so afraid.

“What do you want with me?” Michael demanded.

“The same thing I’ve always wanted.” Metatron pouted, an expression so insanely genuine that Michael almost let him have it. The arm pulled away and Michael breathed in slowly.

Then he flung himself off the bed and burst from the room. The marble floor hit his feet, neither cold nor warm. Suddenly, he was running in darkness. The floor was rough and uneven and he would have fallen several times if his wings hadn’t kept him steady.

He stopped running. He started laughing. It was funny. It was so funny the joke Metatron had played on him.

“You don’t scare me, human.” He knew that Metatron was listening. He’d been listening the whole time, through Sandalphon’s ears, through all the ploys and traps he’d set for him, he’d been listening. And watching.

A shard of light bloomed from his hand. It tore at the darkness until it was a golden sword that fit perfectly in Michael’s hand.

Michael smiled sardonically. “This place…” The cavernous cathedral below his kingdom. He’d known this place. The Christians of Rome used to like to come here, it reminded them of their catacombs, they’d told him. The light of the surface had always been too bright for them.

He turned, and Metatron was there, just out of reach of the light.

* * *

William screamed. The magic coursed through his body, angry and vengeful—it wanted what it had lost. William tried to fight against it, but it wouldn’t let him go. It clawed at him, raking cold and hot fingers through his mind. Not even his worst fevers had felt this way—it raged and wracked his body and would not relent.

“Please…” he tried to reason with it. “I need to…”

Images spoke to him. They promised pain, a wrenching soul that begged for death.

He felt himself waver, as if the reality that held him together were ripping itself apart. He tried to stay in control, he tried to fight it, but it would not let go.

Then he felt something soft, as if a warm hand was holding him back and pushing against the current of agony. The pain receded, ancient magic slipping back into the holes of the world, and all William could do was breathe back the life into himself.

Kevin was at his side. “Young Master, please come back to me.”

William couldn’t respond at first. His eyes looked frantically. He was still in the middle of the courtyard. Camio and Mathers were in the distance, magic bursting from their fingertips and were those students? One part of his mind thought it must be some kind of dream. Why would the head boy and Mathers attack the students? Was it the War of the Roses again?

No… William remembered. That was more than a month ago. Dantalion and Sitri had been fighting about Solomon.

“K-Kevin?” William gasped. “Where’s Mycroft?”

“He’s gone, Young Master. Are you all right?”

William shook his head. The pain had nearly evaporated. Only, it shouldn’t have.

“Wh-what happened?”

“You were convulsing on the ground. I had to step in and do something.” Kevin breathed.

“Y-you stepped in?”

“I had no choice, Young Master.” He looked down and brought his hand to William’s view.

“He left this.”

Kevin opened his hand. The soul shined in it. But there was something different about it. William focused. A straight white line had torn it down the middle.

“N-no.” William took it in his hands.

“There’s still time, Young Master. Come.” He pushed William up, and led him away from the courtyard. The soul pulsed in William’s hand, but the light was dimming.

They passed the tree line and walked into a clearing. “I’ve set up a barrier. You must hurry.”

“But what should I do?”

“Use your magic.”

“Magic?” Kevin was talking about the magic that had nearly destroyed him.

“I-I can’t.”

Kevin shook his head. “If it is important to you, then you must.”

William felt their presence before he saw them. A group of students had followed them and were attacking Kevin’s barrier.

“Go,” Kevin said. “I’ll hold them off.”

William rushed into the forest. The trees seemed like fingers reaching for the sky.

Would it really work, William wondered. He held the ball of light in his palm. How did he even start? Was there some sort of incantation? No, there wouldn’t be. No one had done this before. He would be the first.

The realization gave him a boost of confidence. He wasn’t just performing magic now, he was pioneering it. He was like his favorite scientist and inventors, daring and fearless. Had it felt so maddening to stand on the precipice of discovery?

He had no idea. What he did know was that he wanted Sitri back. Not only because it was Sitri, but because he wanted everything to go back to the way it was. And din’t Sitri want that too? Why else had he clung to existence?

William had used magic before, but he had never actually felt it. From the time that Mathers first taught him, he’d always thought of magic as a reaction that happened outside of himself. But this sort of magic came from within.

It was warm and soft and intense and glimmering. He felt his blood race and his heart beat as his chest grew heavy. This was a very special sort of magic, he realized. Independent of the other ones he’d used. Yet, somehow it was also familiar. He’d felt it in Dantalion’s arms and Kevin’s smile and Camio’s gentle eyes.

He’d have to write about it someday.

Then there was a flash and light all around.

“William?” A voice said.

He looked. “Sitri?” For that was who had called his name. It was an image of Sitri that tapered and warped at the edges, that looked as if it would disappear into the light if he looked away, but above all, it was Sitri. He was wearing his school uniform and looked as he always had.

“You came back for me, William.” The image smiled.

William shook his head. “Of course, I couldn’t leave you. You’re….” he tried to touch him, but his hand passed through. “What are you?”

“I… I guess I’m just the essence.”

“The essence?”

“The personality you remembered. The way I am for you.” He looked at his hands and seemed to realize he was wearing his uniform. He smiled. “I’m glad you remember me this way.”

Essence. He touched the image and Sitri laughed as if it tickled. He understood it now. He understood _them_ now. This was who Sitri was to him. This was who Dantalion, and Kevin, and Camio were to him. Not the whole picture but a single chain of memories trapped in time.

Exactly what they wanted to be for him.

“Do you know where to go from here?” He asked the image.

Sitri seemed to turn, but there was no depth to the picture, no shadows.

The image flickered. He remembered what the voice had said, that even if he found the soul, it was not a guarantee.

He closed his eyes. “I think so. I can feel it.”

“Wait!” William found himself bursting out.

“What is it?”

“Wherever you end up, promise me you’ll come back.”

“Of course, William.” Sitri lifted his hand and this time William felt him, the touch and the warmth. “I would never break a promise to you.” Sitri pressed his face against him and it took moments to realize that Sitri had stolen a kiss. But moments was all there was; William could not think of anything to say as the image faded and then finally disappeared. The light dimmed and he was back in the chilly air again.

All was black at first. For a moment, all William could do was breathe. Had he done it? Had he done what everyone had thought impossible?

The thought should have filled him with pride, like acing an exam from a loathsome school master. But it didn't. He only felt relieved.

Everything could go back to way it was now. He wouldn't have to worry about his friends disappearing anymore. After tonight, everything would be okay. After tonight...

Then he heard rustling.

“K-Kevin?” He called.

His eyes began to adjust, richer and lighter shades of black danced in his field of vision.

Another sound.

“DoN’T you KnOW, TWining? WitCHcrAFt is thE WoRK of tHE DEVIL!” A voice emerged from the darkness.

William backed away.

He heard footsteps.

William recognized them. Underclassmen from his time as a prefect. Hound, and Wallace, and Hutton, all with murder in their eyes.

* * *

Michael held the golden sword before him. He wasn’t scared anymore. He wasn’t angry anymore. He was sad and alone and so, so tired of Metatron’s lies.

“What do you want?” He asked coolly.

“The same thing I have always wanted.” Metatron held up his hands. “For you to sleep.”

His hands were still raised when Michael swung his word down. Metatron swept away, just like he knew he would. Michael lashed out at the air that had been there and peered out into the darkness. Metatron had disappeared, but that didn’t matter to Michael. Instantly, his palm gripped the pommel. He squeezed, hard enough to draw blood on a sheathed sword.

He felt no pain. An angel's life was the absence of feeling, or so it might have been. They were were ultra-sentient cogs in the clockwork of the universe. Everything started to glow a pulsating white. Michael’s body was consumed by it, the white light that savagely ate away at the darkness.

Metatron's presence felt like a... threatening Michael's perfect order.

“You sinner,” Michael said. His voice was unearthly, a hiss of sands blowing through time, the final dying gasp of a star. “I should have let you die as a mortal.”

“Yes, Michael,” Metatron said. “You should have. But you didn’t.”

Metatron reached suddenly into his coat and threw something. The daggers flew towards Michael’s body. They landed at his feet, or where his feet should have been. In the shining reflections there was only a blur of light

“That power is my own,” he said. “I cannot be harmed by it. Or you.”

Michael lunged at him again. This time his sword connected hard at Metatron’s wing. He heard the shuddering groan as he sliced through bone and flesh and feather. Blood dashed itself upon the walls of the cave.

Metatron wrenched himself away and held his bleeding wing. It sagged, hanging by skin alone.

Michael was all things, the power of light and anger, the unbridled rage of God’s impartial judgement. “Soon you will join the legion of fallen angels, Metatron.” He pointed the sword at him. “I’ll let you burn for all eternity, along with my dear brother.”

He charged at Metatron again. This time, he turned and ran behind a pillar for cover. Michael was not deterred. He sliced through the pillar with ease until all that was left were shards of crystal. Metatron limped away.

“You can’t hide from me!”

He smashed another pillar in pursuit.

“No, I can’t hide from you.” Metatron flew up with his broken wing. “And I can’t harm you either.”

The chamber began to shake. Michael flung around. He’d only destroyed two pillars, but the roof was already collapsing. The crystals broke apart and rained around them, reflecting Michael's light.

There was silence, a heated silence which played against Michael's body. If only he hadn't been so trusting. He wanted to wipe everything out, start over, so that Heaven and Hell and the world wouldn't have to be so lonely and dark. It was agony being alone, standing there all by yourself.

 _Take it,_ he almost said to Metatron, _take what I have. You won't want it in the end._

But words failed him now.

He swung his sword up again only to draw away as a piece of the cavern collapsed between them.

In the dust, he could see Metatron frowning.

 _I'll end this soon,_ he thought. And then, suddenly, the world went black.

* * *

William’s back hit a tree. He had no defense this time. Even the magic seemed to be drained; he doubted he could call on a wisp and not much more.

He breathed. Hound and the others had him surrounded.

A wisp was better than nothing, he decided. With a trembling hand, he pushed himself off the tree and started the incantation. Warmth spread. Before he could even finish the spell, fire bellowed around him. His cheeks bristled and his hair lifted at the surging heat. But it didn’t burn. He knew this fire and these flames. He knew this warmth and all the swirling secrets it held.

The underclassmen backed away. Flames licked at their fingers and they dropped the knives into the soft earth, now drenched by the melted snow.

William looked over his shoulder.

“Dantalion,” he gasped. His breath was leaving him and his heart was pounding in his throat.

Dantalion didn’t look at him at first. His eyes were trained on the boys who were just now coming back to themselves. William followed his gaze.

“Twining? Huber? Why do you look so different, Huber?” Hound raised a hand to his forehead. “Am I dreaming?”

William felt him before he heard the footsteps and the whisper, before he felt the hand on his back, before he realized he was shaking against it. “They’ll forget everything in the morning. Let’s take them to someplace safe.”

It was the same self-confident voice that had annoyed him to no end, the same one that had found a way to break his heart-he needed it now. “R-right,” he managed, because there was so much he wanted to say, but there was no way he could say all those things at once.

William led the way as Dantalion, Hound, and the others followed behind.

"It happened so suddenly," Hound told him. "I was er... studying in my room and then there was this bright light...and then I was standing in that grove there." The others seemed to agree in mumbles and sighs. William couldn't blame their reticence. He knew they were afraid, just as much as he'd been before.

He looked over at Dantalion. Was he just as scared now? William couldn't say; only that he was glad Dantalion was back and just as confused and uncertain as always.

It wasn't long before they came across a black, huddled mass in the snow.

"Kevin!" William rushed to him.

"William!" He said. "Forgive me. The barrier..."

Uriel held his head. He was pale and icy to the touch.

William shrugged off his coat and wrapped it around him.

"I-I couldn't..." Uriel tried to say. "I'm not..." But there was no explaining himself to William. One kindly glare and Uriel quieted.

Uriel parted ways after leading the students to John's cottage. William watched his figure disappear into the dark, the jacket hanging awkwardly over his robes.

Then they were alone.

“So I take it you survived those things?” William wasn’t in the mood for talking, but he wanted to hear Dantalion’s voice.

“You could say that.” There was a long pause that made William feel vulnerable in spite of himself. "So those humans," Dantalion continued, "they're possessed by Heaven aren't they?"

"Have you ever seen such a thing?" William asked. He needed a distraction.

"Well, most of Europe during the Middle Ages for one." Dantalion shook his head, as if the ward off William's piqued glance. "But are they all like that? Just taking away the blades seems to help."

William was about to begin with a yes, but he stopped himself. "No, Mycroft... he... it works differently on him."

"I see." Dantalion's gaze was far off, as if he were focused on something else entirely. What could be so important? William wondered, but he couldn't voice it out loud. He felt he'd said all he needed to say to Dantalion, he'd went through all the emotions, and he hadn't come out any better. How could things ever continue on like this?

That’s when William lost it. Everything he’d been holding inside seeped through the cracks, and he spun around all at once and as if he would burst.

But he wasn’t angry. He was… he didn’t know what he was. “You idiot,” he said, “don’t ever leave me again.”

Would it always be this way? He couldn't seem to keep Dantalion around, after all. And did Dantalion even care? He could live forever-assuming he didn't get himself killed in the process. He could live long enough to see a thousand versions of Williams. Was he simply waiting for the right one? Was all this just trial and error for him? William wouldn't ever know.

Dantalion gave a wry smile. He combed his fingers through the hair at the back of William’s head and brought him closer. There was a moment, a moment where William looked into Dantalion's fiery eyes and felt only calm. Why couldn't always be like this? Why couldn't someone live in one moment forever? Of course, William knew that was impossible.

But oh, he wanted it so bad. Then, he when it started, but Dantalion was swarming his mouth and jawline with kisses, kisses that William found himself returning. He realized they hadn’t kissed since that time in the dormitory with the rain, and although it hadn’t been more than several days ago, it felt like years. William wanted to hold on to him forever and feel his warmth pressed against him, as if his very presence could ward off the winter’s chill.

He never wanted to break from it.

He knew the night was far from over. He knew he’d need his wits about him, he knew he’d need to stop kissing and for Dantalion to take his hand off his head. But for now he stayed motionless, wanting to melt into Dantalion’s touch, wanting to believe that everything—finally—was going to be okay.

* * *

When Metatron had first met Michael, he'd thought he was a girl. Of course, Michael wasn't anything like that, but Metatron remembered the burning fire of the hearth and how Michael's light had outshown even that in the darkness.

It was silly, now that Metatron thought of it, to think that Michael had ever been human. To think that he could capture him as easily as a man caught a fish.

If he thought of it now,  he might have likened Michael more to the fire. An element, something raw and natural and dangerous.

Michael was like that now: a glimmer of light that might have burned Metatron to ashes if he hadn't been an angel too.

But the glimmer was going away now, he noticed. Michael had used too much power. He was wounded. It wasn’t a fatal wound. Nothing was in that form, but that just made the pain all the more real. There was no release from it, no surrendering to the inky slab of death.

Metatron plucked the golden sword from where it had fallen.

“I’ve spent lifetimes trying to free myself from the chains you’ve tied me with.” Metatron's voice was chill and calm. As he drew closer, he caught a glimpse of Michael's face, and the puddles of light that drained from it. “But I see now that it was foolish to try to break myself away from you.”

“Of course,” Michael clutched his shoulder. “Only by killing me could you free yourself.” Metatron had never really known Michael. And Michael had never really known Metatron. They’d thought they’d known. Thousands of years at each other's sides hadn’t made them any wiser.

"Shall we finish this, then?"

Metatron clutched the sword in his hand. It was light and weightless, and yet he could feel the thousands of souls it had crushed, too. It was a burden, as much as any gift from God was.

"Let's," he said.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild sexual content at the end.

It was quiet, but then it was always quiet when angels fell. No agonizing screams, Michael remembered, just an empty voice falling into the void. Was it their pride that kept them from talking, he thought, or was if the disbelief? It seemed that Michael wouldn't have long to wonder which one it was.

Metatron stalked him silently. The sword weighed down his arm, as if it were livid about being controlled by another. Still his pace was smooth, determined. Michael counted all the warnings in his head, each episode where Metatron's veneer of calm must have held a patient and unbound anger. Had it been denial that had kept him from seeing the truth sooner? Or was he truly at his limit now? Would sleep wrack his body now, or the tortures of Metatron's unfettered revenge?

He was already in so much pain. He doubted he could take much more. Even through the suffering, he did not question God. If perfect creatures could feel pain, then perhaps they could experience all forms of existence.

But it didn't matter now, Michael thought miserably, his own existence would end soon.

_Clang._

Metatron tapped the sword against the ground. It made Michael's nerves scream.

"What are you waiting for?" He gasped. The last flickers of light drained from his fingertips. He was powerless in front of him.

_Clang._

The pressure in his head would not go away so he bowed it. His hair surrounded his face, achingly, perfectly, falling into place.

"I've always thought you were beautiful." Metatron's voice was quiet, barely above the lingering echoes of the sword. "The most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

_Humans. Shameless, humiliating humans._

"I was attracted by your light."

Michael was no stranger to relishing the pain of his enemies. Perhaps that was Metatron saw now: a beautiful, broken creature on the verge of destruction. Fine. He would not be afraid of it. He would not scream nor beg. He would let him come.

“But, I could never free myself.” Metatron held up his palm, just as he had done all those years ago when Michael first lifted him up. “I felt it then and I feel it now.”

“What are you talking about?” Michael could feel his body protest at every word.

“The chains you’ve bound me with. It wasn’t the promise. No, that was only a small part of it.”

He clutched the sword in his hands.

Michael braced himself.

Metatron threw the sword away. It clanged on the ground with sacrilegious resignation. “It’s love.”

“What?” Michael’s eyes widened.

“The chains you’ve bound me by. It’s love.”

Metatron knelt beside Michael. “All this time I’ve been trying to find a way to break these chains, but the more I struggled, the more I came to realize the nature of our love. It’s not the same kind of love I have for Sandalphon or Sitri. It’s different.” He cleared his throat. “…I shall never come unbound. I love you.”

Michael looked away. Of course, he knew of love. God's love was eternal, everflowing, vengeful, and resplendent. But he knew less of human love. Of the type of love that Metatron knew.

"I don't know anything about that."

Metatron's eyes smiled. "Then, will you let me teach you?"

* * *

The lights were dazzling to William's eyes. Each time they flashed he thought he would go blind. But it never happened that way. Dantalion always knew when to stop, when his powers would overwhelm the human eye. And that was how he subdued the boys of Stratford, not with power, but with amazement. After all, that's all a boy in school really wanted anyway; to be awed. The daggers grew too hot as they watched the amazing light before their eyes: crystals gleaming in a light so strong it could have been the dead of summer, fireballs swelling in the sky as if they were made of gold.

But William didn't have much time to appreciate it. His focus was on his classmates who were just coming back to themselves.

"Form lines by dormitory," he called, knowing well that public school boys would know how to do that even if they were half asleep. Straight lines formed about him, each boy shivering in their ranks. After all of them had made some semblance of a line, Dantalion came up close to him. He was breathing hard and smelled like smoke and metal. "You can take them from here." He leaned against William as he whispered the rest into his ear. "I'll find Mycroft." 

"R-right. Okay." Dantalion was warm against him. He almost didn't want to leave. But Dantalion sprinted off before William could say much more.

It did not take long to guide his classmates out of the courtyard and into the dorms that Camio had requisitioned. They followed and, for a moment, seemed to forget that he wasn't a prefect any longer.

"Say, Twining, what are you doing in this dormitory? Didn't you move up to the Headmaster's dorm?"

"About that..." William started. He couldn't think up a good reason to get around the question. "I suppose I was just nostalgic for the old days." Which wasn't really a lie. He'd known exactly who he'd been then—before everything had become so crazy, before Dantalion had kissed him and all the feelings that it had brought on, even before he'd started liking Dantalion, when he'd seen him as just a nuisance and nothing more—he'd been a boy obsessed with science and success and money and nothing more. Would he ever know himself as thoroughly ever again?

"Are you all right?" The boy asked.

William was sure he looked tired and ragged but he said, "I'm fine."

"It's just that," the boy started to point, "there's some blood on your coat."

William looked down. There was a faint stain on his coat. It didn't hurt, but William felt under his clothing for the wound anyway. His body still ached from fighting Mycroft, but he didn't know if the fight had drawn blood.

His hands came back dry.

"Glad you seem all right."

"Yes, it's-" he stopped.

"What is it?"

Before the boy could say another thing, William was running.

* * *

In the end, Metatron never heard Michael's response. Michael only stared at him, and kept staring. Anger, rage, sadness, hopelessness, all those expressions would not have surprised Metatron. They were all human emotions, but angels had them too, he'd learned. However, Michael's gaze suddenly broke from his, his eyes heavy with sleep. And then, without a word, his eyes had shut and a silence had fallen around them both. Michael had finally gone to sleep.

Now, walking out of that cave and into the corridor, Metatron could see his reflection in all the polished surfaces of Heaven. The most striking thing about his reflection was his wing. The snapped and broken piece hung there, as if refusing to let go. It did not have the same haunting beauty as Uriel’s single wing, nor the elegance of the full-winged angels. It looked incomplete. Broken.

Still, the angel before him did not seem broken. He seemed, intimidatingly, whole. A smile crept on his lips, innocence and happiness and something familiar.

Another striking feature about his reflection was what he held. Michael seemed much smaller in his arms. Much weaker. As if he weren't Heaven's chief angel at all and never had been. Just a precious, beautiful thing in a world of precious, beautiful thing. He was asleep now and he would stay that way for a very long time.

And, when he woke, Metatron would teach him about the love he had. A quiet sort of love. The kind of love found in wrinkled hands and tired limbs. The kind of love that doesn't glitter nor shine, but glows in the middle of the dark.

Would Heaven be lonelier without Michael? The thought caught Metatron by surprise. He knew, after all, that Michael's absence would cause upheaval among the ranks of angels. But there was a pining feeling now that he couldn't have prepared for.

"Now what?" He asked his reflection.

With great reluctance, he passed on Michael's sleeping form to his followers.  The rites would take time. There would be chaos and other angels would question, and debate, and fret. Already, he could see Zachariel whispering frantically to Azrael in the crowd of onlookers. Metatron had entertained thoughts of joining Michael in that dreamless sleep, but he'd set too many things in motion now. He'd have to see them through, at least until someone else was ready to take the reigns of Heaven. Still, the thought of joining Zachariel and Azrael's conversation vexed his mind, so he slipped away before either angel would notice him. 

He found himself once again in his room, and at the end of a knife.

"Who are you?" Sitri thrust the knife in his direction, all the while leaning against the bedpost for support. He feet were unsteady and his body swayed.

"I'm surprised you can stand," Metatron said, unexpected amusement filling his voice. It seemed that Sitri had done more than simply stand. With his eyes, Metatron followed the trail of fallen sheets and other upended objects and traced it halfway across the room to where the silverware was kept.

_Too close!_

Metatron stepped back as Sitri tried to slash at him, but he was too far away. He would have to leave the bedpost if he wanted any chance.

"You didn't answer me!" Sitri's voice was hoarse, a scratchy whisper.

"Perhaps you need a reminder." Feathers engulfed his form, the warm and slightly ticklish feeling prickling his skin. Within seconds, he was standing before Sitri as Sean Christian.

“You’re…Sean…!” Sitri gasped. He lowered the knife slightly.

"You needn't worry yourself, upperclassmen," Metatron said. "Go back to bed. You need to rest and get your strength back."

"You're an angel?"

Metatron considered making a joke, something like, _how could you tell?,_ but he did not feel like being skewered.

A look of disbelief crossed Sitri's face. He was still incredibly pale. “Were all those things you told me lies? How am I supposed to believe you?”

Metatron looked at him. “That's true. I did lie to you about a lot of things."

“You...” Sitri's footing had become unsteady.  The knife shook and Sitri came dangerously close to cutting himself. Sooner or later, Metatron realized, he would collapse.

"You can believe what you want." Metatron said and transformed back into his adult form. “I didn't lie to you about everything, you know.”

"What am I supposed to believe?" Sitri dropped the knife. He leaned against the post, his whole body seemed drained. His color turned almost white.

Metatron approached carefully. "Actually, the truth is I do love you."

It occurred to Metatron that he had never once questioned his emotions. He had always been sure that his heart could not be wrong. Perhaps that was for the better. That’s why it had been so easy to become an angel. He had always accepted his feelings for what they were—the insurmountable, undeniable truth.

"I don't believe you," Sitri said.

“Then I’ll say it over and over again until you believe me. Forever if you want me to.”

"Get used to it," Sitri said breathlessly. Then, he collapsed against the bedpost and Metatron caught him before he fell to the floor.

Perhaps it would not be so lonely without Michael after all.

* * *

The dawn had risen with a gray redolent of cobwebs and attic dust. William ran into the courtyard and then to the end of it where it touched the forest.

The trees offered little resistance as he broke through their dead, low-hanging branches. He could not tell how long nor how far he ran, only that he thought his lungs would burst. Finally, there was a flash of red between the trees. He dashed to it and stopped.

Dantalion's complexion shown pale in the dim light as he faced down Mycroft. William was still haunted by those empty eyes. Empty eyes that used to be his friends. Empty eyes that now stared at Dantalion as if he were just... _just_...

"Just another lowly demon who killed my father."

"I didn't kill your father, but I am just a _lowly_ demon." Dantalion chuckled. He held his abdomen and when he removed his hand to defend himself, it was covered in blood.

"Dantalion! You have to stop!" William called out.

Dantalion turned around. His eyes were squinted by the pain, but just one look told William he hadn't wanted to stop.

"William?"

"Die!" Mycroft hissed. Dantalion had just enough time to call up a barrier before the attack came. William was knocked off the ground.

"William!" Dantalion rushed to his side. William looked up. Mycroft was coming closer and all of Dantalion's attention was on him.

"Look out!" He called, just as Mycroft lunged into the shield that protected them. Dantalion braced himself as the impact rocked the forest around them. There was a sound like glasses clinking together and a burst of light. When his eyes adjusted, William could just make out Mycroft's body against a tree trunk.

"I-is he okay?" William asked. "Mycroft!"

Dantalion helped him up, but it took everything William had not to rush over to his friend. Instead, he quickly looked over to Dantalion. The red was seeping through his clothing now and falling onto the snow. Pink patches now splattered the ground around him.

"Dantalion. You need to get help or... or I don't know..." Too much was going on. Mycroft and Dantalion, two people so close to him seemed poise to kill each other. What could he do?

"I'll be all right, William," Dantalion said breathlessly, with all his usual good humor, so that William almost believed him. Like he'd believed Sitri.

"No, not you, too," William's voice cracked. "Don't lie to me, too."

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Mycroft getting up. The dagger was still in his hand, glinting off the glittering light of the almost broken barrier.

"Let's get out of here, we'll ask Kevin and Camio for help. You can't face him right now."

"I thought there was something I could do," Dantalion said. "But the Ecstasy... he's too far gone." Mycroft was getting ready to charge again. William watched as Dantalion braced himself and the barrier.

"You don't mean-"

This time the sound was like a window shattering. William blinked and saw the crack in the barrier, an angry, burning red like the blood seeping from Dantalion's wound. Mycroft crouched in the snow. His body was trembling, but his hands were still on the dagger.

"Call down the barrier, Dantalion."

"William. No." 

"Dantalion. Please."

The barrier dissolved before him, the angry crack seeping into the air in a red mist.

William crept toward Mycroft. His footsteps were light, unhurried. "Mycroft," he said.

Mycroft did not move, his head bowed, his body crouched in an almost inhuman way.

"Mycroft," he said again.

Mycroft looked at him. His eyes were hallow, but there was rage in every movement.

"I'm sorry about what happened to your father, Mycroft."

"My father's soul's been condemned to Hell because of you!" he seethed. His strength was returning. William had no way of knowing if he would attack him or go for Dantalion.

"No," William said softly. "He's not there."

"And how would you know, Twining?" Mycroft raged from on the ground. His body was struggling to stand. The Ecstasy was pushing his body to its limits.

"I wouldn't, but Dantalion would." He looked back. Dantalion nodded. "He's a demon, after all," William continued. "He would know."

Mycroft lifted himself into a kneeling position. The knife was still in his hand, but it didn't seem like he would attack just yet. "I..." he held his head in his hand. "Everything feels so different now. It's like my body isn't my own."

"Let go of the dagger, Mycroft."

Mycroft hesitated.

"I'm sorry I hid it from you, too." William said. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the demons and your father. I didn't want to upset you at first, but then..." His voice trailed off. "Then I thought you wouldn't have believed me anyway." He remembered Mycroft's pleading voice as he'd asked him to accompany him to his house. He remembered his friend's grief-stricken eyes as he worried about his father, as he learned his father was all but a pile of ash. "But now I know I should have told you. I shouldn't have kept it from you."

And William saw Sitri's pain, and Dantalion's pain too, shining through the fake smiles, and thought, just once, that he understood them perfectly.

"I don't know if I can forgive you, William..." Mycroft was crying, as if all the memories from that day had come welling back up. William fought the urge to run over and comfort him.

"It's okay if you don't want to be friends with me any longer. It's okay if you don't forgive me. I just wanted you to know what really happened back then."

"William..." Mycroft's hand shook.

"Please come back, Mycroft." William tried to hide a grin. "Do you really think Isaac has a chance at competing with me for Headboy?"

Myscroft almost laughed. "He surely doesn't."

The blade fell from his hand and Mycroft fell back to the ground.

"Mycroft!" William knelt down, shaking Mycroft by the shoulders.

"It's over." William snapped up. Kevin was there, right beside Dantalion.

"What do you mean?" William could feel his voice shaking.

"Your friend gave his body and soul to Heaven. There is now nothing left for him to give."

"N-no..." His face felt warm and his eyes stung.

"His soul will be offered to God." Kevin knelt beside him. "I'm sorry, young master."

"B-but how can that be..."

"A mortal's body can't survive long under Ecstasy. It's amazing your friend lasted as long as he did."

"But we still need to compete for Head Boy. He can't be..."

No one moved and no one spoke. It was as if they were indulging him. Of course they were, William reasoned: Dantalion saw death as a sleeping void and for Kevin there was no difference between death and God's light.

They could never see it as William saw it.

"Le-let's get him out of the snow..." he managed to say.

Time seemed to move slowly.

In spots and patches, he remembered Kevin lifting Mycroft off the ground. He remembered shouldering Dantalion, who had almost collapsed. He remembered the quiet light of the cabin where they eventually ended up. He remembered feeling woozy and dizzy, as if the past few days had compounded into one on top of him. He lost his footing and it was Dantalion who caught him and carried him to the spare room. And it was Dantalion who brought him into bed and wrapped his arms around him.

“William there’s something I need to tell you,” he whispered.

"What is it?" he remembered himself saying.

"Just, I'm glad it's this way. I'm glad it's you."

He wanted to ask what that meant, but things were getting too dark and William was too tired. All the stress seemed to melt away and it was replaced with a tiredness that weighed on him. He fell asleep, Dantalion's warmth so close to his.

* * *

 Something woke him suddenly. Dantalion was at the foot of the bed, faced toward the opposite wall. William could only make out his jawline and the strange sharp ears of his demon form. His hand was wrapped around his side and William remembered blood in the snow and how his heart had stopped.

"Dantalion...?" His voice was raspy and dry. The room was filled with dying light but it was warm. His body felt heavy from having slept so long. He looked down at Dantalion's hand, how it seemed stuck to his side. "Are you all right?"

He took a long time to reply. Or perhaps it was that William was just perceiving time differently. He was reminded of that day with the rain, when it had felt like they were the only people in the world. It felt like that now, too.

"The healing process isn't working."

"What do you mean? Were you stabbed by those daggers?"

Dantalion turned around. Even in the near darkness, William could make out his expression. He seemed desperate, as if he were waiting for something.

"Yes."

A shiver went down William's spine. Could he pull a soul from Limbo again? He remembered the voice: _just one._

"But it won't be fatal this time." Dantalion went on. "Camio was given one of the daggers before in Guernsey. I suppose he gave it to Duke Beelzebub's retainers. They've found a way to counteract the magic, it's just..."

William felt his heart leap, but Dantalion's tone still hadn't changed.

"I need to sleep."

 _Didn't we just fall asleep together?,_ he wanted to ask, but he knew exactly what Dantalion was talking about.

"I don't think I can, it would mean..." Dantalion didn't need to say it. "William, you need to tell me to sleep. _Command me."_ He drew a breath, unsure and unsteady. "Because I won't be able to if you don't." His voice wasn't more than a whisper.

William could feel the warmth, what little he'd had in the comfort of the bed, begin to drain. His fingers felt icy, his heart beat slowly. "I... I..." 

"You don't have to decide right now. Just soon."

Dantalion did not move nor speak. He might have been giving William time to think it over, but all William could do was stare blankly at Dantalion's back.

_No!_

"You'll get better if you sleep, right?"

"Yes."

"And if you don't..."

_Please don't leave me!_

"I won't lie to you again, William. I won't live longer if I don't."

"Then..." _How dare you!_ , he wanted to scream at Dantalion. _How dare you make me decide for you!_ But he didn't want to scream at him, no, he wanted to hold him and never let go.

Dantalion seemed to acknowledge his uneasiness, though he didn't turn around. A hint of laughter came into his voice. "Do you remember how you hated me before? I imagine you must feel the same way now."

"What? I never hated you." It sounded like an insult now. He wanted to believe it was a lie, but he'd been a different person then.

"Yes, you thought I had ruined your life."

"Well...yes...no..." Meeting Dantalion seemed like a lifetime ago. How quickly had contempt turned to affection? And affection to _love_? How quickly would it no longer matter? "And I don't feel the same way now. Why are you bringing this up now?"

Dantalion turned around and knelt on the bed. "I was just remembering those days when I would follow you around school. I had a lot of fun." He laughed, but it was a shaky, unsure laugh.

Back then, William hadn't been tricked by the demon's human façade, he'd thought it was all just a trick, a game, to elect him. William knew better now: the smiling teenager who played sports with his friends, who pronounced his love for him in the middle of the school yard, was that not the real Dantalion?

"Right before I met you, I think I had a dream about you and Solomon." William said. He hadn't meant to bring it up, but he couldn't help reminiscing about those days. They felt so long ago, even if they'd only happened a couple of years ago. "The two of you were sitting in a palace and he made you one of his pillars." The beautiful moonlight had framed them, just the two of them. William had almost felt like an intruder then.

"Yes, I remember that."

"And, what will you remember of me? That I _hated_ you?" He could feel the tears again. He felt so drained, so tired. He had already lost a friend. And now he would lose even more? Even the thought stung. To live the rest of his life without Dantalion?

"Of course not." Dantalion touched the back of his head with his free hand. "I'll remember this." He kissed him softly. "And this."  He kissed him again. This time William's breath hitched, as if his body had just realized what was going on. Dantalion's cheeks brushed against the messy tears. William went to kiss back, but Dantalion backed away just as suddenly.

"I hope you won't hate me for that." Dantalion's grin was mirthless, and also sad. "And for this."

Before William could comprehend what was happening, Dantalion's lips were on his and they were going down, down, into the bed. William heard the squeaking sound, strong and sweet, as the bed surrendered to both their weights. He felt fingers going through his hair, softly, desperately, going down and unbuttoning his shirt. William thought he should stop this, stop before they went too far, but he didn't want to.

Perhaps he wouldn't let Dantalion go to seep after all. He didn't want this to end, and maybe they'd find a way to start the healing process. He was greedy, he knew, but then hadn't Dantalion said something about humans being worse than demons?

He tugged at the corners of Dantalion's coat, not sure how he was going to get such a large thing off from beneath him. He heard a slight chuckle from Dantalion and felt his hands leave his chest. In moments, both the coat and shirt were gone. For the first time, William saw the extent of Dantalin's wound. It had been bandaged up, but it was bleeding again. He traced the bandages and the soft skin near it. Dantalion let out shaky breath.

"Sh-should we stop?" He asked.

"Only if you want to," Dantalion said. His eyes were the color of amber, even in the dull light.

"What do _you_ want?" William heard his voice, breathy and anxious.

"This." Dantalion plunged back into a kiss, raw and hard, a feeling of pleasure shooting straight to William's groin. William's heart beat fast, he could hear it in his ears as surely as Dantalion's lips were against his mouth. Part of him screamed that he had gone too far, that he'd lose all hope if he didn't stop now. But that was part of the person he used to be, the person who had despised Dantalion and the others. There was another part now, a stronger, stranger part, that never needed to listen to logic and reason ever again, a part that knew it was his heart that mattered more now. That it had always mattered more. 

William looped his fingers on Dantalion's pants. He felt the stiff, rigid muscles that were now slick with sweat.

"A-are you sure, William?" Dantalion asked softly.

When had he ever been sure?

He pulled down and Dantalion hurried to fulfill his request. Soon enough, all of their clothing was tossed aside. Dantalion crouched before him, looking younger without all his clothes. There wasn't anything particularly remarkable about seeing another man's naked body, William thought. In a boy's school, it was something that happened quite often. But Dantalion's strong but vulnerable body made his chest hurt and his skin tingle with anticipation. William smelled the light hint of sweat, and something else, something sweet and pungent like the smell of life in the Spring. The more he smelled it, the more he wanted it.

He reached between Dantalion's legs. He couldn't remember when he'd ever been so bold. "Lie down," he instructed. Dantalion gave him an uncertain look, but obliged.

Before long, he was on Dantalion, his hand sinking into the bed beside his head, his other hand greedily squeezing. "This position is better for you, isn't it?" He asked as he kissed Dantalion's jaw.

"Mmm." Dantalion was still. His eyes were closed, but it did not look like he was in pain. Because William had never feared God before, nor believed in any gods for that matter, he had never been fearful of what wandering hands did in the middle of the night. It was a biological process, necessary for a clearer mind before those end-of-term exams. After some experimentation, he found exactly which spots to linger at to make Dantalion's body shiver and jerk into his touch.

William was careful to lean against Dantalion's good side. He nestled into Dantalion's neck and kissed the soft skin there. Dantalion made a sound in his throat. It might have been a whimper, but it only encouraged William further. He kissed there again and felt Dantalion's hand pull at his hair. All the while, William's hand touched the both of them, intimate and giddy and pure.

Dantalion sighed, the same easy, arrogant kind of sigh that fit him so well. "I can't go on like this," he whispered.

William moved his hand faster. He felt Dantalion's hand join his. Soon, the familiar feeling of pressure built up, quickened by the closeness of Dantalion's hand and body. He heard Dantalion take in a sharp breath and he just had to break his kisses and look. Dantalion's face was covered with sweat and it was dark and beautiful and sweet and everything William wanted in that moment. The way his mouth curved into a sincere grin, the way he looked directly into his eyes, as if he were not afraid of anything. If only he could ride this joy for a lifetime. If only time could stand still like it was now. If only he could find someone that trusted him as much as Dantalion trusted him now.

It faded very quickly, as such things always did. He lay beside Dantalion, catching his breath.

William imagined a future where the two of them could always be like this as he stroked Dantalion's face as the two of them faced each other. His hands were wet and sticky but he didn't care. Not when Dantalion was so close to him. Not when his eyes were so warm and soft and vivid.

Dantalion made a soft humming noise in his throat and smiled at him. A wordless smile that glowed with trust and affection and love. Had Solomon seen this smile before, William wondered, because if he had, he wouldn't forgive that guy. He wanted this smile all to himself. He wanted to be greedy. He wanted to keep this moment forever.

"All right. I've made my choice," William said. He kissed Dantalion, all the while wishing he'd done it all sooner.


	21. Epilogue

"Of course, the summers were always nice. Everyone would come to the human world, Camio and Maria and John, Uriel, and even Metatron if he wasn't too busy. We'd all treat it like a vacation…" Sitri was saying, stretching his sun-drenched limbs, but Dantalion was barely listening. He'd slept, just shy of 100 years, and everything had changed. _Everyone_ had changed it seemed—except him.

"Ah, did you know they had children? Camio and Maria…" Sitri continued, apparently not concerned that Dantalion was barely paying attention.

"And William?" Dantalion winced at the sound of his voice.

"Of course. With Bianca Clifford, although they always said it was a sham of a marriage. Bianca was always sneaking off with her maid…" A wicked giggle erupted from Sitri's lips.

Sitri's answer wasn't what he'd meant when he'd asked about William. He wanted to know if he was still alive, still _here_ , although he dreaded that answer as well.

They were crossing a large, overgrown field. Insects buzzed as the grass pliantly bent under their footfalls. Up ahead, he could make out a hill and a building, partially hidden by a tree line, and guessed it was where they were going.

"And what about you? Still think I'm a dirty Nephilim?"

Sitri gave him a sideways glance. "Oh Dantalion, I knew you were going to say something like." His grin was not as sardonic as Dantlaion would have expected. It was patient, even a little sad. It occurred to Dantalion this was what apologetic looked like on Sitri's face. "The truth is I don't care about that anymore, but if you still hate me for it, I probably deserve it." He walked ahead, unhurried, so it was no problem for Dantalion to catch up with him.

"I don't hate you," Dantalion said. He got a good look at Sitri's eyes to try to judge his reaction, but there was something else he noticed about them. Where he expected ice, he found only warmth.

But Sitri didn't immediately present a response. He started walking again, the line of trees coming closer. "I don't know what you want me to say, Dantalion. All these years have made me forget how much of an idiot I was in the past, and now that you're here…" He ground his teeth. "I just know I don't want to be that person again, so can we drop it please?"

"So the cat's got his own tongue, huh?" Sitri gave him a look that made him realize just what kind of fire had burned all that ice away. "Fine, fine, I'll drop it."

They had made it to the end of the tree line and Dantalion could see the steeple on the building and the dozens of sculpted stones dotting it. His heart sank.

He passed through the sparse group of trees, but didn't hear the second set of footsteps behind him.

"Aren't you coming?"

Sitri leaned against a tree trunk. "You know, he spent a lot of his time with magic. I think he was trying to find a way to see you again…." He looked like he was dreaming.

Dantalion left him there and found his way among the graves.

The only other person was a young man in what Dantalion supposed was the fashion of the day: a loose looking suit. He stood very still over a grave stone.

Dantalion swept along the graves, dreading and hoping to find the name. But none of the names were ones he recognized.

Then he saw it, as he passed the young man, the name Sitri had said. Bianca. Then this young man must be…

"Excuse me. I'm looking for—"

The man turned around and Dantalion's words were lost in his breath.

"But how?"

"Now, Dantalion," William smiled, "haven't I told you? Never underestimate a realist."

_The End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this. I really don't know what to say except sorry for being so lazy and thank you for being so kind.


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